Take All That I Am
by becausehiships
Summary: A story of loving someone despite where they come from, despite their past. Take All That I Am revels in the differences that make life interesting, and relationships that shouldn't be but are. Come say hi on Tumblr! /becausehiships
1. Warnings and Chapter 1

_Laundry List of Warnings:_ anal penetration, intense orgasms, light d/s and bondage, sex in public, slut-shaming, dubious consent, rimming, barebacking, mentions of rape and potentially illegal interactions, oral sex on both penises and bananas, tons of sex that's more than vanilla

_Synopsis_: In a world where extreme opposites can't help but attract, never to leave one another alone again, rock bottom is just the beginning.

For Blaine, rock bottom turns him right side up and suddenly he doesn't feel like running anymore. He finds a beautiful, ethereal, much-older man in Kurt, the owner of the coffee shop Blaine escapes to for shelter from the constant black cloud that follows him everywhere he goes. The Lima Bean is, gratefully, within the boundaries of the allowed radius Blaine's constricted to after stealing a thesaurus (of all thing) and he falls into a routine with Kurt without effort, seamlessly inserting himself into the man's life, forcing his way inside his heart.

Reluctant to truly live his life without the people he's lost, Kurt keeps Blaine at arm's length until it's time to let go and learn more about either of them than he could have ever wanted to handle. With one look at Blaine, Kurt quickly realizes that he is seemingly only attracted to seventeen-year-old faux bad boys who desperately need saving and that he must resist if he doesn't want to end up slaughtered by his fellow Midwesterners or in jail. He learns that Blaine's father is a callus, homophobic man threatening all that he is only because Blaine is attracted to other boys the way he should love girls. Kurt leads them both down a dark, twisting path toward recovery and they find a way to fall in love, against all odds.

It's a story of loving someone despite where they come from, despite their past. Take All That I Am revels in the differences that make life interesting, and relationships that shouldn't be but are.

_Author's Note/Warnings: _Instead of giving away the plot at the beginning of each crazy chapter, I've decided to post a huge warning at the beginning of this story. This is not a fanfic you want to bring home to your parents, you guys, and it's definitely not a story you want to get caught reading in class, at work, or anywhere else. You need to be over the age of eighteen to read this please, mainly because I don't want to offend anyone and although I play with the law in this fictional piece of work, the sexiness of Chris Colfer's and Darren Criss's characters in _Glee_ being the main point of inspiration, I don't condone pretty much anything negative in this story. At the end of the day, it is a love story, but I need you all to understand that it takes a lot to get there for our boys.

First and foremost, there is an insane amount of dirty language, an indescribable amount of f-bombs, explicit sexual references, verbal and emotional violence and abuse, self-deprecation from both Kurt and Blaine, tons of homophobic slurs, seriously shitty parents, mentions of deep homophobia from family members and strangers, intense violence, severe bullying at home, and blink-and-you-miss-it references to hookers, prostitution, drugs, and underage alcohol consumption. I need to make sure you all understand that the theme and tone of this piece of writing is not happy and fluffy all the time, but it gets there.

This warning also serves as a friendly reminder that I believe in the happy ending (it's all I've got!) and although I may play a lot with your emotions in this one, please remember that our boys are into each other "fearlessly and forever."

In _Take All That I Am_, Finn Hudson existed at one point as Kurt Hummel's stepbrother the same way we saw on the show, but has passed away before the story picks up. He's been gone for a few years and there are several references to him. He dated Rachel in the same way as _Glee_, and Carole and Burt got together in exactly the same way as well. It all makes sense when you read it, I promise, and Finn's death is a huge part of Kurt's characterization and reasoning behind some of the actions toward Blaine and other characters in the story.

There are a few original characters in this one, as well as some appearances from our favorite (and not so favorite...) _Glee_-based friends. Mostly, they exist as supporting roles with the exception of Blaine's father. He's the main troublemaker, but keep in mind that this story is mostly about Kurt and Blaine.

This is an alternative universe fanfiction in which there is an age-gap between Kurt and Blaine. Although Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson (and their _Glee_-related friends) exist, there's not much that stays within character as you see on the show. Kurt is eleven years Blaine's senior, and Blaine can be classified as a "bad boy." Their relationship is eventually sexual, so you need to be prepared for mostly Blaine as a bottom, but they do switch and return favors frequently. As far as the other sex-related warnings go, you will read and hopefully not be offended by the following: anal penetration, intense orgasms, light d/s and bondage, sex in public, slut-shaming, dubious consent, rimming, barebacking, mentions of rape and potentially illegal interactions, oral sex on both penises and bananas, tons of sex that's more than vanilla, and angst during sex.

This all comes from my seriously messed up head, and although I am very proud of this piece of work, I couldn't possibly let all of the above go unsaid. Please, please, please let me know if you come across something else offensive that should be mentioned here.

This story is finished and completely edited, so I'll be posting one chapter on Thursdays and one chapter on Sundays for the next twelve weeks. That means this story is twenty-four chapters.

I couldn't have done this with the support of the following people:

First, my editor-in-chief, amazing, great friend who's never afraid to play devil's advocate for every single detail in my life, in Chris Colfer's and Darren Criss's lives, and within the realm of this fanfiction, Cyn. The backbone of this story was all me, but she approved every single word and spent so much time teaching me about commas and vocabulary and characterization; my sincere thanks goes out to her. When I didn't remember the differences between drafts (and oh my god, let's talk about how many drafts she read), she kindly reminded me and was more than happy to perfect the sex in a way I couldn't even read it anymore. When I became so indulged in each paragraph, she forced me to look at the big picture and truly appreciate the world I created. I am speechless when I think about the amount of support and knowledge she's given me, in a way I never ever thought I deserved. She single-handedly helped me cross something huge off of my bucket list, and for that I am always grateful. On top of all of that, she's an incredible friend and I'm so happy I was on Twitter that one day. Please follow her, she's hilarious and perfect, and every _Glee_ fan should know her. CynicalGlee.

Secondly, my cheerleaders that hate Christian more than I do (you'll see, you'll all see), Christine, Kelly, and Jess. You guys saw the story at its worst and still supported me and all of my decisions to keep making Christian even meaner, and even though you cried during every chapter, you urged me to keep going and keep editing. You convinced me that it was good enough to get to this point, and I'm here because of you.

I think that's all I have for now. Please don't hesitate to send me questions or comments by both reviewing on here or on my Tumblr – .com.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

_May 2013_

"I'm sure we'll see this fucking homo here again sooner than later, huh Marty?"

"I'd put my damn '67 Corvette on it, boss." They cackle.

The clunk of the metal pinches his skin just right as the police officer in the seriously unflattering uniform tightens it around his Achilles' heel, and it feels like the blood is forever separated from his toes. With every step, a constant snag – the ultimate reminder of failure. The little black box constricting his ankle is all too heavy to lug for the next twenty-four months, so he makes a pact with himself that he will get this shit taken off entirely before twenty fucking fifteen. His over-protective, over-zealous brother is literally staring him down from the corner with his left arm crossed over his right, and a grin on his face obviously mocking the system. The boy marks an imaginary "X" over his heart with his right pinkie and rolls his eyes at the cops laughing at him before striding out of the courthouse without so much as a "fuck you" to anyone.

Cooper is calling after him to slow the fuck down, for God's sake. "Dude, all I wanted to do was spend the weekend with my baby bro, and now you're out here getting arrested? I'm home for twenty-four hours and all you can do is steal from a bookstore? Really Blaine?"

He huffs and throws up a middle finger, slides down the banister, and barrels into the parking lot in front of him. His brother stops dead at the sight of a sexy blonde lawyer type and about-faces to follow her in the opposite direction, and only then does Blaine kneel down on the grass. He knows he's lost Cooper at least for a few hours.

"See you at home, Blainers! I have some business to take care of…" Cooper trails off over his shoulder and disappears around the corner, producing mint-flavored breath spray to shoot into his mouth before running his fingers through his hair and following the woman to attempt a conversation.

Rolling his eyes, Blaine empties the clear Ziploc bag containing all his stuff. He shuffles through his iPhone, his headphones, sixty bucks, and the American Express. Gathering everything in one blow and shoving most into his back pocket, he rises and moves quickly down the street, seamlessly inserting his headphone into one ear and hitting play, disappearing into his now four-mile world. At least it's not house arrest; that particular prison is one in all of itself. Every night at home is like twenty-five to life.

He leans down as he walks, brushes off the bits of grass plastered to his knees, and rubs his palm across the indentation that the blades of green harshly left behind. He's spiraling down into the black abyss and can't seem to fight the rip tide of going under.

It's safe to say that Blaine Anderson doesn't give a fuck. He hasn't given a flying fuck east or west since he was expelled from the Dalton Academy for Boys last year. Always-in-the-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time Blaine Anderson was expelled with a few of his Warbler buddies when one of them decided it would be a fantastic idea to make sure his marijuana was still in his pocket as they walked together down to English class. A small baggie falling out of his pocket at exactly the perfect time for a teacher to pass ended Blaine's career of genius talent at Dalton.

Blaine couldn't care less about leaving school; it's easier to hide away now. His days are filled with roaming the streets in his lonesome and staying as far away as he can from his father. Petty theft has become his hobby of choice. Stealing out of sheer boredom has its perks, but there are certainly plenty of negative aspects, too. Of course, there's the fact that Christian Anderson, his father, could find out, and plus he didn't even get to keep the stuff this time. _Let's not forget to mention this fucking GPS attached to my body. Fuck the man._

"Hey! Come back here, kid. Hey! Blaine!" A stilettoed Latina is tracking behind, latching her palm to his shoulder in an effort to slow him.

"We have to talk about your conditions. Hey. Are you okay?"

He turns and creates a scowl from the thin line of his mouth, successfully finding the essentially intimidating noise in the back of his throat, and curls his top lip in disgust. He rolls his eyes, reluctantly sinking into the bench on the side of the square of grass that almost resembles a common area on a college campus. _Almost doesn't count, Anderson._

The area is busy, bustling with guilties and innocents and lawyers awaiting the next court hearing or discussing in enough detail to get their stories straight. There are faceless men with cheap suits lounging on the benches in the park over their deli sandwiches and single serve chips and diet sodas and there are children on leashes and mothers on cell phones not paying attention, soaking in the sunshine, their heads angled for a perfect swift kick to the jugular. Finally, spring has sprung.

He inhales the warm air deeply and turns to her, turning to him. She supplies him with an overstuffed and clearly aged manila folder, curling at the corners with a growing rip at the bottom crease. Anderson, B.

"I'm your counselor." _She's too young to be a fucking professional._ She takes a breath, "The rules now. Don't explore beyond the four mile radius, please… for the love of all things holy. I drew you a map; it's in your file. I umm… highlighted it for you so you don't get confused." She tilts her head, looking anywhere but his eyes. Her voice is lower. "You need to find a job." There is no response from him. He sits. She continues. "You need to go back to school, Blaine. Join a club. Keep up on your homework. It's the only way we can keep you out of trouble with the court. These conditions are coming straight from the big wigs in the offices up there." On the bench, she slides closer to him; he jerks farther down the bench and slumps, spreading his legs in an effort to look tough or manly. He's pretty sure he'll never pass for a _man_, not with his wide-eyed stare or his petite stature, and the fact that he's so obviously gay. _Am I obviously gay? Fuck Christian Anderson, how the hell could he tell? _Snapping back to reality, he hears the last of this lady's lecture. "…These are the conditions, and if all goes well, we might be able to get that thing off your ankle in twelve months or so instead of twenty-four."

He's shaking his head with fury throughout the part of the speech she clearly practiced in the mirror before facing him. "How the fuck am I supposed to get a job, lady? With this thing on fucking display_?" No one wants me. No one will ever want me._ He hides his true feelings of rejection and replaces them with that of faux anger. He's not angry, not really. Maybe just a little, but that's at himself, not this professional fucking speech giver slut girl. He finds himself rattling his ankle dramatically and forcefully as if to dislocate the joint, like a dog after he's been chased with a hose, fur plastered down like cement against its skin.

"You can get a job like anyone else who goes into places and applies. Except unlike the little brats of West Lima who need gas money, your well-being depends on it. You get a job or you get locked up. _Again._" She shrugs. "Your choice completely."

"Better than school." He deadpans. _Or living with Daddy Dearest._

"My card is in the file. We'll see or talk to each other weekly. Stay within the map!" She stands, spins on her toes, and disappears toward the courthouse. Blaine stands and continues in the opposite direction toward Main Street. He is easily amused by himself; he is huffing when he realizes that totally just looked like a drug deal, until he forgot the God damned folder out of rage and sincere desire to just get the fuck out of here. He peaks over his shoulder carefully to ensure he won't have to interact with her again and retreats, almost tip toes, back to the bench. He slams the folder against his chest and continues his journey and his "I'm So Angry at the World" playlist.

He follows his familiar footsteps without thought, although heavier and dragging almost to the point of an uncomfortable annoyance on the left side. He just needs to get used to the added weight. The course is a jagged one with no true direction; Lima is, generally speaking, a grid. It's hard to get lost, as much as he's wanted to in the past. He finds himself hyperventilating as he strides widely onto the street he grew up on. As soon as he turns, every time, he is impaled with anxiety, nothing more or less than straight-up fear. He's thrown by it, swaying in a zigzag from one curb to the opposite and back again. He shakes and flushes as he works his way through the gate and on the incline up the driveway, climbing the three stairs onto the pretentious mansion's devious wraparound porch that doesn't fit in with the rest of the homes in the (also pretentious) neighborhood. A grey the color of his shadow, the house sits on the top of the hill at the end of the cul-de-sac. This place where he is instructed to call home is anything but. It sweats desperation and hatred for what one does not choose to be. It screams absence and the sincere lack of whatever family he needs. He stands blankly in front of the door, glancing down at his throbbing ankle. He has nothing to hide it; he can't hide the visibly pulsing vein, writhing with an inexplicable feeling to escape its captive state, to grasp onto the freedom of pulsing as largely as it would have liked. After running through the typical options, he lands on his usual game plan that only works about twenty percent of the time: simply get to the bedroom, lock the door, and wait for the parents to leave.

This game plan, like so many times before, is a failing one. Today, the game plan is even worse, because he can't hide the vein and the metal black box and the rage and the self-deprecation.

He's so frustrated with himself, not for committing the crime but for getting caught for this second time. He didn't even _want_ the Thinker's Thesaurus and the Moleskine Weekly Planner, not that badly. He knows, however, that he gets off on cheap thrills, and returning the merchandise he's stolen is the greatest of backup plans if the parental units ever cut him off or cancel the credit card. He only steals from small establishments with no true "receipt to return" policy. It's a misdemeanor as long as the merchandise stays under five hundred dollars, but apparently getting nailed for the same crime twice in one year puts you in juvenile detention for twenty-four hours "to scare you" and then results in clutching the monitor to your ankle until the end of time. Or maybe this whole ordeal was special treatment because his last name, they know, is Anderson. Maybe the assholes at the courthouse thought they were doing him a favor by sending him home, but it's probably accurate that they knew exactly what they were doing by determining his destiny, knowing Mr. Christian Anderson, all-hail-the-king Christian fucking Anderson.

Blaine doesn't understand how there could be so many homophobic fuckers in one state. Hell, in one tiny rural Western Ohio city. _Town_. Lima is such a small town, of which no one gets out alive. Granted, he's never met another openly gay boy here, and it might have been a bit more bearable with a hot piece of ass, but maybe he's never met any because they are all such geniuses to stay in the closet. He used to carry an emergency condom with him everywhere, just in case he found the opportunity to make this place a little bit better, but gave up when his father found it in his pocket one Wednesday afternoon. Blaine wonders if he ever would have questioned his sexuality without Greg in his eighth grade class, back when the Andersons lived in Westerville. To this day, though, Blaine fails to regret his decision to come out. He yearns for comfort within himself, if with no one else. He's taking care of himself; he is all he has.

He grasps the doorknob and pauses to breathe before turning and pushing the door open. A thick layer of emptiness and emotional filth welcomes him; it hits him like a tornado raging through the depths of his soul. He hurries to climb the first few stairs to his bedroom in slow motion, avoiding some stairs altogether due to their nature to creak.

"Blaine." _Fuck._ "Blaine, is that you? Get over here." _Shit. Fuck it all to Hell, dammit_. Blaine descends back to the first floor and peaks into his father's office, directly to the right of the front foyer. He has no choice but to do as he's told.

"Father." He greets, mocking the stupid rich-white-folk rules and regulations he's had instilled in him since he could remember. Christian Anderson does not, has never, will not ever fuck around. He is abnormally tall for the rest of the family, Irish in descent, complete with a fading accent from twenty-seven years ago. His green-as-leaves eyeballs pierce through in a burn with a flicker fashion. A hard and unexpressive mouth and permanently tanned skin are met with the presence of the few freckles splattered across his nose. His hair is the darkest of blacks with silver around the edges, pin straight, and always freshly cut into a short professional trim. He is certainly in an obvious position of power, never holding back on the overall importance he exudes. Blaine's father holds the number one spot of lawyers in Ohio with winning murder cases under his belt, and that makes sense when you are met with Christian Anderson's presence. He's fucking scary, intimidating, overpowering. He leaves the most evil serial killers shaking in their knees, nervous sputtering messes at the stand.

Blaine knows that everyone is innocent until they're proven guilty, but the fact that Christian Anderson has defended hundreds of clearly guilty murderers makes Blaine's skin crawl.

"Cooper called. Said he had to help you out down at the courthouse. Why didn't you call me?" His tone is accusing.

Blaine stares at him for a moment, working up the courage to speak. He shrugs. _Fuck Cooper._

"Say something, faggot."

Blaine breathes and makes eye contact. "I… I…" He glares up at his father. He's performing the universal sign with his hand for being gay, probably in an effort to get a reaction out of his son. Blaine takes a breath, pushing the tears away from his eyes. He will not cry. This man does not deserve his tears, even the ones he's already cried. "I just didn't want to bother you. I know you're busy and…" _You would have left me there to rot._

"Well now you're stuck on fucking probation. That's something I could have gotten you out of. If I wanted to. Not that I would have, I would have kept you locked the fuck up to become one with the fucking soil. And not only that, but everyone gets to know it now too, with that fucking GPS strapped to you. What the hell were you thinking, young man? Now I don't just have a faggot as a son, he steals too!" Christian raises a hand. Blaine flinches and pulls away from him as his fist makes contact with his cheek, his dad's class ring slicing it open as planned. Blaine stumbles back and trips over one of the chairs facing the desk, grabbing onto whatever he can: a sterling silver paperweight as he falls to the ground. The paperweight comes with him and he knocks his head on the hardwood maple floor. Fuck. He juggles the paperweight a bit before it disappears from his hand and is thrown right back to him, hitting his clavicle with the force of a major league baseball pitch aimed to strike. Blaine is being kicked in the groin and in the ribs and all he can do is take it. He curls as much into the fetal position as he can and waits for the beating to be over. He doesn't cry. He only waits, staring out and focusing on the nicks in the wood of the chair he just tripped over.

"You worthless piece of shit, are you fucking listening to me? I hope you rot in hell with a dick up your ass with that fucking monitor on your damn fucking leg, you dirty, disgusting faggot." Blaine's dad then coughs up as much phlegm and saliva as one can fit into a mouth, and it lands right between Blaine's eyes.

He's not listening; his ears go swimming in the depths of the nearest ocean a thousand miles away. The parallels he lives in during these moments are typically unbearable, but never as awful as the reality. Usually blurry by this time, his eyes focus on an uncharacteristically white glow with a thin light around everything as a border. It's almost like a halo, like foreshadow he's been praying for since the very first punch in the rib all of those years ago when he came out to his parents.

Christian Anderson does not have any anger management issues. He works to solve problems. As the number one most popular and successful attorney in Ohio, his opinion is the most influential among the poor and stupid farmhands the state has to offer. He's expensive, but will sometimes take a case for the publicity, and this is how he's gotten to be famous by way of practicing law. The only attorney from the state of Ohio to go to trial against the Supreme Court once and win, he can move mountains and part the Red Sea, according to the citizens of Lima, Ohio. He's most known for getting a client, Jacob Destoff, off for murder, despite the bloody glove that matched his and his ex-wife's DNA.

His problems usually lie with the girlfriend who killed the boyfriend after she said no to sex, or the crazy teenager who went on a rampage at his high school. His problems usually never follow him home, and now that he's in this predicament, he does something about it. He has a problem at home, and it all stems from the fact that his son, Blaine, is gay. Sure, he's always held his two boys up to the highest of standards and neither has met them with or without ease. Cooper might as well be a fucking circus clown, gallivanting in a gay city out west, living paycheck to paycheck for the sake of "his art" and serving sushi and some shit called Shabu-Shabu or whatever the fuck on the side. He should have been made Junior Partner by now, and making seven figures for 40 hours of work, but it's not Cooper Christian hates. Cooper has a girlfriend, who, although is not a 10, is still a woman.

Blaine, however, is the lowest of all human forms; he is a despicable cocksucking little fucking whore. He hates him for dishonoring the family name, with every fiber of his being. Andersons are supposed to be strong, manly men that dominate the world and industry they're in: Law. There's nothing more to say about his lame excuse for a son, he just simply hates the little bitch. And he makes sure to show it every chance he gets. Especially now that the faggot's been kicked out of school, Christian doesn't hold back on the bruising.

Blaine struggles up the stairs into his en-suite bathroom. He cleans the blood off his face in one practiced and now extremely natural motion, and sticks a large piece of toilet paper to his cheek, as if he shaved a hole into the side of his face and nicked it just a bit. He ensures he's generally okay, and that there are no bones visible, aching to be shown from beneath the level of skin like last time. He lifts his shirt sheepishly to check his ribs, immediately winces, and knows at least two must be bruised. His breathing is heavy, his breaths shallow. He changes his tee shirt to one without stains of blood. Inevitably, he'll need to get more soon. For good measure, he attempts to soak this one in warm water in his bathtub. He'll deal with the details later. They're all starting to mimic each other.

Blaine bolts. He's clutching his highlighted map from the Latina after pulling it out of his stupid folder. He has to go, anywhere but here, as long as it's within four miles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Eleven AM, and there is finally some silence. There is not a soul on the empty street outside, not even one. He almost wishes for a teenager in a private school's dapper uniform to skip in, requesting something super fancy and delicious with extra foam, but he seems not to mind the slow streak right now. It's a nice break from his usually tauntingly busy mornings, to the point where he almost forgets that he hates his ownership of the Lima Bean. When there's a line of money-paying customers, he almost forgets how much he hates his life, how lonely he is, how much he hates himself and his long list of failing decisions that leads him behind the counter taking coffee orders for the rest of his life. _How did I get here? _It's then that he notices he hasn't cried today. _Yet. It's not even noon._ He calls it a victory, or maybe just slow, excruciating progress. _How is one morning of dry eyes progress? _He doesn't want to put forth the effort with himself.

Sighing, Kurt dismisses his morning shift cashier, Julie, who promises she can stick around if he needs her. She's a petite little thing, and if he was being honest, she was only hired because she kind of reminded him of Rachel. Annoying, yes, but exudes nothing but determination and hard work.

Rachel Berry, a force to be reckoned with. Rachel is Kurt's former best friend (current best friend?) and roommate. McKinley High School is to blame for the pair's meeting that led to almost seven years of being attached at the hip, breaking away only for work and school and sleep. They grew up together, or at least matured within the worlds that mattered, and now she's gone just like everyone else and Kurt is alone. People always leave, whether they want to or not. Always have, always will. Kurt knows that he'll be left alone in the end regardless, so why try his hand at interaction with others? It's why he only reacts with his parents and his employees now. Sure, they'll leave one day, he's positive of that much, but at least he'll also be able to remember his family who he loved, and his employees who helped him make some sort of income. Anyone out of that circle will never be worth it.

Julie trudges to the back room to gather her purse and her keys.

His inside voice rambles nonsense not for the first time when he's left in his own personal solitude._ No one loves you. You're a coward. No one wants you. Dying would be best. Doubt. Ugly. Alone. Not good enough. Flawed. It's true, dying would be best. _

Kurt had always thought of New York City as his Mecca – as the place where he would wind up and find true happiness, whether that would be another person, career, or creativity. He never felt at home in his quaint Ohioan life and had been attracted to the freedom of being himself in a city, The City, Manhattan. He loved that New York had a mind of its own, full of influence and resistance in which he would have to figure out his own life for himself and answer to no one else. It was a satisfying fantasy that he could be anything he dreamed of in New York, as he could with his own family, and not one person would bat an eye. New York seemed like an adult version of the safety he sought out in Glee Club.

He found himself because of Glee Club and ultimately because of Finn. Kurt was happy to have Finn as his stepbrother. They mutually supported each other throughout high school and beyond, and that was enough for Kurt. But when Rachel Berry pirouetted straight into his routine of sophomore year, all the loose puzzle pieces of a grand goal of close friends and eternal happiness seemed to fit together seamlessly. Finn brought Rachel over to the house for a family dinner shortly after they began dating and the rest is history. Kurt and Rachel became fast friends because of her relationship with Finn, but maintained their friendship because of their identical love for the arts. Kurt, forever grateful for Finn for being his rock throughout high school, found himself urged into Glee Club with Rachel and thus obtaining an army behind him and his interest in other boys. Kurt owed so much to Finn and Rachel for unknowingly finding exactly what Kurt needed.

As the question of their futures started to loom over the McKinley junior class, and as graduation quickly approached, Kurt and Rachel made a pact with only one detail: New York together. Rachel's dreams were not necessarily New York, but the dreams were all performance-based and it was just lucky that Broadway was within city limits of Kurt's Mecca. Her incomparable voice and the light she brought to the stage were only small hints that she was going to make it someday. They vowed a life, or at least their college years, of living together chasing their dreams in the only city Kurt would ever like to know.

Kurt vividly remembers that the change from potential to waste materialized somewhere between his first few auditions during his junior year of college. The unmanageable instances of rejection ripped at Kurt's soul the first few times then poisoned his veins just a bit more with each "no" making its way to the surface. In a place that was once his definition of perfection, Kurt was experiencing a terrible case of falling sick to his stomach of New York, with no one and nothing to rip him out of his location depression. He slowly fell into a routine of curling into a ball and crying all of the moisture out of his body and listening to slow and sappy songs about being alone and lonely. Rachel was too busy getting noticed to notice the trapped downward spiral her best friend was now accustomed to.

Kurt carried on under the realm of rejection until he met a gorgeous boy in an advanced theory class. Eddie showed him the world of "love" he was missing all those years. Two abusive years later, Kurt Hummel officially opted out of ever having a boyfriend again if having a boyfriend was hitting and punching and rough sex and never saying "I love you." Kurt felt like Eddie's whore for twenty-four months and decided he was no longer in love on their exact two-year anniversary after being impaled by a throbbing cock so rough and dry he would still feel it all the way from Ohio. Shortly after, Rachel received word that she got the job on television in California and she was expected to be packed and across the country in two weeks. There were so many variables in Kurt's life and he took all the changes in Rachel's as a sign. At Rachel's announcement over a quiet dinner party hosted at their shared apartment, there was vacant talk about moving in with Eddie. Kurt ultimately moved home with his father instead. It was a handed opportunity to escape a man he didn't want to be with anymore in a city that was eating him alive.

Julie mumbles her goodbyes and he waves her off persistently. He knows that Austin is scheduled to come in right before the afternoon rush begins. Damn, he is great at being a boss, even though he'd rather be doing something else far away from here and a hell of a lot more creative. Kurt wishes her a great day, and continues to wipe the table that sits against the foundation pole one more time for good measure and tilts his head, humming to the constant adult contemporary soundtrack he gets to pick. One good thing about being the owner, he supposes, is the complete control over the soundtrack. He'll always approve of the music selection. He's alone now, and can let go and relax until Austin comes in.

He's pretending he's on a stage now, as he twirls a tiny pirouette and grabs the mop placed strategically in the corner and dances with it for all of thirty seconds to the sound of his own take of the Broadway version of "Tale As Old As Time." He adores the story of the Beauty and the Beast. Belle, although physically beautiful, is sincerely fucked up and she keeps to herself buried in her books as an excuse for not being close to anyone else, and she's got a good head on her shoulders, would do anything for her dad, and works really hard to fix the one she loves. The beast, on the other hand, is ugly inside even more than out and struggles with himself and the world around him. They still manage to find each other and fix each other and live happily ever after. He giggles to himself, obviously living in his own universe, and obviously analyzing a stupid fairytale way too seriously. He just wants to find a beast to his Belle. He yearns to love a man unconditionally, regardless of how his struggles have ruined him. That never happens in the real world. He, however, remains sane enough to restock the sugar, to wipe again at the chance of spilt milk.

He feels the familiar prickle of wet warmth trailing down his cheek as he retrieves the plastic funnel to easily refill the sugar from the large canister into the decorative one that sits by the rest of the condiments. He's stuck in a rut and so painfully lonely; he only has himself. Kurt's traded in his Vogue internship and auditions for student films and crowded subway trains and hustles and bustles to race from one corner of the best city in the world to the other for filling sugar bowls and counting five dollar bills at the end of each night, to ordering coffee beans from a corporate warehouse somewhere in Michigan. This is his life and he can't fight it, not anymore. He's breathless from running from the dark clouds, and from his constant fight to show anyone who would give him the time of day in passing that although it appears he's just a lifeless loser who will remain in this town until he rots away into the soil at his feet, he's not. He has lived, and he'll live again. Maybe he won't share a life with a man again, but he'll do it for himself. He wants to prove it to anyone who will see, he wants to show the world just what he is capable of, even if he can't find his way back to his once-paved yellow track to super-stardom. Kurt Hummel is not one to get stuck, but somehow it's exactly Kurt Hummel who has been sinking deep into the quicksand for more than a few years. He hasn't quit his dreams, dammit; he's put them on hold until he's ready to try again. He's just not ready yet.

He vanishes to the back supply room to switch out his coffee and milk-stained rag with a fresh one in preparation for the afternoon rush, due to trickle in sooner than later. While he's digging through his fresh supply, the ribbon of bells he designed himself to give the shop a quaint feel jingles with a push of the door. It's an uncharacteristically harsh sound; it's a response to the door being thrown open. He perks up in surprise, gracefully wiping his hands on his apron, and strides back in behind the counter. He plasters on a smile for the sake of coffee expertise and impeccable customer service.

A bruised and broken boy, not all that different from himself seven or eight years ago. _A beautiful version of absolutely broken._ A limp, and a split-to-the-tooth bottom lip, and an eye threatening to snap shut in all its purplish grey glory, and… is that toilet paper attached to his cheek? He wisps in, nervous and unstable on his feet. He clutches the table by the pole and steadies. He looks up in search of a menu as he approaches the counter, but finds Kurt's wide eyes. His golden irises lock with Kurt's steel blue gaze. Kurt feeds his soul with the unbearable need to control the situation. He needs to help him; he needs to make sure the boy is okay. He's still gripping the newly soaking wet rag, tighter than he initially intends to, and shakes himself out of his trance as water streams down his forearm. Pushing his hand forward and above the cash register, he offers up the dripping rag.

"Are you okay?" Hands brush only for a second, and his reflex is to reach up to the boy's cheek, but he quickly refrains. The boy's rag-covered hand presses against his cheek with pressure and he winces at what must be an excruciating pain. Kurt feels his eyes bulging and his brows furrowed into wrinkles, and he watches the boy's own face go from wrecked and pained to defensive and scowling in a matter of three shallow breaths. Kurt moves away from the counter to scoop some ice into a cup for the boy's black eye.

"Can I just get a medium drip, pretty boy?" He scrunches his eyes dramatically and pushes his palms to the counter space in front of him, and then just like nothing even happened, nods to a homemade pack of almond biscotti. "And some of those." He holds the rag in front of him and over his head at an angle, and unclenches his fingers around it over the nearby trashcan, watching it fall to its death.

Kurt can't move. He is paralyzed. _Who is this kid?_ He needs to help him. _What is his story? Why isn't he in school? Is it even a time where one would be in school?_ _Would he even allow Kurt to help him? _He needs a doctor, he probably needs stitches on his cheek, and he needs Kurt. Kurt, in turn, needs to be needed. Kurt has found a distraction to his own depressing life, and thank goodness for that. He starts to go through the process of nursing this boy back to health. He fantasizes about getting to know all about his fucked up past and becoming a makeshift therapist, someone this boy can trust. Both hands are clenching the cup of ice, and his uncontrolled shiver sends a few cubes to the tile at his feet.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm your only fucking customer. Can you fucking get me what I asked for or not? Are you that incapable of even making a cup of coffee? Was this your fucking dream, Lima Loser?"

Kurt decides that he needs to incorporate a black eye discount: Free biscotti and coffee when you come here directly after getting the shit kicked out of you.

Kurt snaps out of it and slams the remaining ice down next to the register. It's now that he notices that he's been staring at the beautiful boy for more time than is socially acceptable, lost in a trance of making him safe again. He looks at him again before slightly nodding, at which question he's not sure, silently agreeing with him that he is in fact a Lima Loser. He decides, for now, to push away from the jabs at his own self-esteem, because this kid has clearly had a bad day, week, year, life. However, he does take note that this is the first person to leave him utterly speechless, without even a hint of sarcasm or snark or ounce of defense on the tip of his tongue, as he is usually prepared. This frightens him, especially if this is the start of a regular thing. _Of course it's not a regular thing, this guy just came in for coffee after getting mauled by someone who's clearly had training._

Blaine is in bad shape. He can feel his kneecap floating, as if it's been filled with water and the simple bend of the joint in just the right way could be a crushing pop to the balloon. It is definitely dislocated. Although his usual injuries are the same as they always are, there seems to be an extraordinary pain in all of them working against him together. He remembers gliding his way to Main Street, gripping any side of any building he could find, and hoping to anything that the seconds it takes to cross the street are not the same seconds his wobble turns horizontal. He hasn't eaten and he's tired. He needs something to keep him awake, at least until he confirms with his dizziness that the concussion isn't coma-inducing.

He's a smart kid. He knows what he's doing and he always takes care of himself. No matter how much others don't give a damn.

The older man scrambles to prepare the injured boy's order. "Why don't you go sit down? I'll bring your order over in a second."

Turquoise eyes full of pity stare down on Blaine, snapping him back to reality. He wants to bark that he doesn't need any help, that he doesn't need anyone to feel bad for him. He wants to growl and curl his lip and intimidate. Instead, he sets his jaw and shuffles to the table by the pole, extending his arms across the length of the surface and curling his fingers around the opposite end. He puts his head down, forehead kissing the still-damp area in front of him. He closes his eyes to block out the last three hours of his life and drifts away.

The next thing he knows, there is a mop dropped at his feet and he's jolting awake to bright eyes and an elbow on the spot across from him. There's a cold cup of coffee and an untouched bag of cookies.

"Oops." This guy's tone is mocking, as if he dropped the damn mop on purpose. The man follows his line of vision down to the fallen mop and shrugs. "You're drooling, you know." He smirks for just a second then turns his lips upward into a small, shy smile. There is silence in the flirt, but a flirt nonetheless. "I'm Kurt." Blaine blinks and swallows a gulp of cold coffee, making only the slightest reaction to let in how unpleasant the taste is on his tongue. There's a beat and Kurt turns to break the awkward silence. He strolls, like a fucking graceful ass vampire, back beyond the counter and pours another cup of coffee. He palms a few sugars and balances a small jug of liquid carefully, returning to the table with a determined look in his brow so there's no more spilt milk. "Are you okay? Do you want me to call your parents? A friend? What happened?" Blaine flips the top, arranges the mixture to his liking, and gulps again. _So light, so sweet. _His hands follow the paper cup back to the table and he stares into the brown, slightly too light mixture. Kurt gets up again and flips the sign in the window to "closed." They don't speak. They don't meet each other's eyes. Blaine is scared. He is shaking. He's not sure if it's his body's reaction to this seriously good looking man who clearly thrives in helping fucked up teenagers like himself, or his body's reaction to the pain.

Blaine pushes up in an effort to appear as normal and unhurt and as unaffected toward _Kurt_ as possible, empties his coffee cup into his stomach, and slams it back down to the table, burning his throat in the process. He brushes past Kurt a little too aggressively, then again past a newly arrived Austin, and disappears into the emptiness of Main Street.

Kurt sighs and changes the sign on the door from "closed" back to "open." _So much for stopping everything to help the boy in need. Not even strangers want to waste their time with me._

Kurt greets Austin politely, gives him a few instructions for the rest of the afternoon, and locks himself away in the back room's restroom to cry.

Blaine sneaks into the foyer and dives into the family room down the long hallway beyond the stairs and closes the elaborately detailed doors and locks them together. He follows his familiarity and collapses onto the plush couch. Grabbing for the remote on the coffee table and powering up the DVD player, Blaine is destined to watch whatever was in there from last time. He daydreams of blue sparkles glistening back at him, the voice too high an octave, and he has hope that things will work out in the end, whenever that will be.

Blaine wishes beyond anything else that he could go back to how things were before he came out. He wants so badly to go back to the time even after he came out, and his father wasn't so angry about it all. It's definitely built up slowly, and now his dad is in the worst condition he's ever seen. He needs his confidence back; he needs himself back. He's always angry, now. He throws his phone against the wall. It shatters. He knocks the framed family photo off the wall, and he overturns the oversized chair in rage after unzipping the cushion and throwing the fluff across the room. Sneaking down the hall again, leaving the trashed family room for someone else to straighten up, he thankfully makes it to the kitchen where he proceeds to gather a survival kit of boxed crackers and a few cans of soda before sneaking up to his bedroom and locking up as quickly as possible. He drifts into a nap that turns into the entirety of the night, dreaming of graduation and college and the beautiful man from the coffee shop that couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Blaine's face. He would share these dreams and the story of his newest infatuation if he had a friend in this lonely, lonely world.

The next morning, he wakes on his own at 8:30. He slept off most of his injuries, he hopes, so he showers and leaves. He nearly trips over a box of textbooks at his front door with a note attached. _"Studying material for your senior year. This is what the others were up to while you were stealing the latest copy of a thesaurus. There's something ironic in that, don't you think? Call me! – Santana"_

He's on autopilot, now. Hugging an astronomy textbook and others he's not quite interested in, he walks with less of a limp than yesterday. Only staying still for a few hours in his slumber helped his ribs to heal on their own a bit, although definitely not 100%. His headache has gone away; licking his bottom lip proves an effort to normalcy as well. He knows, without looking, that his swollen purple eye will be just that for quite some time, but that's perfectly fine because it keeps the people away from him, as he prefers. He doesn't realize that he ends up at the Lima Bean, naturally scanning behind the counter for this Kurt character.

The man is a fucking angel, and probably a freak in the sheets, too. _The way he walks, the swivel of those hips!_ Bright and interested blue-as-the-ocean eyes that gaze into his soul every time they meet. He has perfectly coiffed strawberry-blonde hair, straight and a little too long across his forehead, and a button nose that resembles a freckled ski slope. His skin is pale, blemish-free, and completely flawless. His mouth is full, lips are plump and red, and his cheeks have a natural rosy glow. His body is lean, lanky, but formed and muscular. His biceps bulge, and assuming by the tightness of his visible body parts, his calves must reform with every step. His thighs must be devastatingly toned and perfect, even his ankles are probably beautiful. He's a ten in a town of twos, and Blaine can't stop staring. _Won't._

Blaine finds himself sprawling at the same table by the pole for hours, reading everything he can about stars and constellations and other galaxies. He escapes his four-mile world in something that is so much bigger than this stupid little town. He is seemingly thirsty and laughs at the irony that he's in the middle of a place that could probably make any beverage he wanted sans alcohol, so he approaches the counter as naturally as he can, but not before staring at his books in an effort to glue them to the table so no one walks off with them. There's no one super threatening in the vicinity, anyway; it'll be fine. The queue moves efficiently, and soon he is ordering into the subtle waves of blue and porcelain. Kurt shines at him, and Blaine forks over his credit card.

"Shit! No, I want to pay cash." Blaine grabs for the card, but Kurt pulls it away and up over his head. He turns his back to Blaine and reads the card. Kurt is smiling brightly when he faces him again.

"Can I get you anything else, _Christian_?" He allows every letter to drawl out of his mouth, overexaggerated and… steamy hot. Kurt's eyes darken before him, squinting into a rather serious look. The bell of the door rings, and Kurt is somewhat aware of his newly arrived employee joining him behind the counter, signing into his register, and forming words with the following customer in line.

Kurt and Blaine exist in this world together, the only two who are one in the same.

"No! I mean. Shit. My name is Blaine. This is my father's credit card. Christian is my father."

Kurt stores this information and comes out of it appearing seemingly unfazed. "Can I get you anything else, _Blaine_?"

Blaine curls his lip downward, clearly disappointed he's let someone in so quickly, and shoves a five dollar bill at him. "Your pretty little mouth all over my cock, _Kurt_, and I didn't want you knowing my name until you scream it later." It was too loud. A stupid, slutty housewife turns to him, flabbergasted, as does the employee standing at the next register with the housewife. He raises an eyebrow and moves back to his table, leaving Kurt behind to squirm and become acquainted with the blush rising all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Medium drip for _Blaine_, on the bar." Kurt says, shyly but loud enough for Blaine to hear. He's surveying his soul, peeling each layer one by one. Blaine raises an eyebrow and doesn't budge.

A few seconds go by and Blaine continues to stare at the man. Kurt scoffs and angrily grabs the cup, a few packets of sugar, and a jug of milk, and hand delivers the coffee to the table by the pole. He throws it all on the table and turns on his heel, swinging his hips a little too freely on the way back behind the bar and into the back room.

He feels the moisture welling up quickly, and he couldn't do anything to stop it if he tried. He throws himself into his chair and folds himself to jolt his head in his hands. Kurt sobs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Songs used in this chapter:**  
**Get Outta This Town, Carrie Underwood**

Blaine knows he has the potential to get out of Ohio, if only he can rescue his tenacity. Since the Lima Bean, Blaine has realized that in order to avoid becoming the Midwest's next generation of _Kurt_, he needs to get himself together and study for the stupid GED exam. (Even though his lame parole officer thinks he should return to his old school, he has a list of great reasons why he shouldn't.) Then, he needs to move to an acceptable city with a reputable gay community and make it a point to never look back. He knows nothing about Kurt besides the fact that he owns the Lima Bean and that he probably lives somewhere nearby. This is enough to convince him that he must strive to be unlike Kurt at all costs. All of his thoughts (positive and negative) seem to go back to Kurt, every single time he allows his mind to wander.

Although Kurt is a total townie, stuck here for the rest of his life, he is absolutely mesmerizing. There's something about the man that shows Blaine that this probably isn't his dream at all. Even though he feels drawn to Kurt, like there's something about him that makes Blaine want to rip down all of his walls he's spent years building and share his darkest secrets, he looks to Kurt and sees a man who is not in control of his own life. He sees a man who's stuck in a place where he's not destined to be.

Kurt always looks sad and deep in thought with a frown illustrating his inner voice, as if he is beating himself up internally. To Blaine, Kurt always seems withdrawn from reality, like he's grieving what could have been, what was his past, something or someone he can't get back. He seems reserved, as though he has his guard up toward all people he doesn't know well.

It's clear to Blaine that he is attracted to Kurt, there's no doubt about it, but he continues to be hesitant in truly wanting to know more. Half of him wants to get inside Kurt's head, despite the sadness and loneliness attached to his existence, but the other half is shying away because he's here, in Lima, and there's no possibility that Ohio houses anyone worthy of learning more about. Blaine knows that each smile Kurt throws toward him and any other customer to walk through the door is merely a show for whoever's taking the time to watch him; it's a replica of Blaine's own circus act.

Kurt is clearly in his late-ish twenties. Blaine's never had a thing for an older guy, but he finds that he doesn't mind that Kurt is probably about ten years his senior. This unavoidable infatuation with Kurt isn't safe, it's actually quite dangerous, but he can't seem to shake it off. He should shy away from interaction with anyone, let alone the coffee shop owner in his late twenties who is a perfect example of what not to be when Blaine matures.

His usual table's surface in the Lima Bean is big enough for four and lies next to a pillar that attaches the ceiling to the floor. It displays thick molding meeting and crossing every corner in some sort of intricate design that wouldn't ever be considered by a bland person destined for Lima. The detail of the interior design throughout the shop forces Blaine to stop and truly think about whether Kurt was in charge of the layout of the place. The subtle swirls grooved into the wood are hypnotizing, and Blaine thinks that he must have subconsciously chosen this area to put forth some much-needed comfort into his life. The table itself is painted black and there are random letters cut out of a magazine glazed on with a silver glitter topcoat. It feels weird to blend into an environment where he is free to feel like himself, although he's not screaming and shouting that he's gay in all the stereotypes' glory. The prominent lyrics that are glued to the corner of the table speak to him on a different, more personal level. They stand out more than any Pink or Katy Perry compilation ever could have back at Dalton Academy for Boys. The lyrics bring life to everyone's common dream to get on, to move on, to endure in a happy ending. Vintage Carrie Underwood, but so revolutionary to the way his heart feels, the lyrics take him away to another world.

_Windows rolled down with the heat on high_  
_Stars all aligned in a runaway sky_  
_Holdin' my hand as the miles roll by_  
_Long gone, baby_

_God, fuck Kurt, man! He is the gayest of the gay, giving all gay men everywhere a bad name for themselves! Why's he got to be so flamboyant, so annoying, so out there but subtly sad, too? _Straight female best friend counterparts everywhere are going to be sorely disappointed when they find out they all can't be Kurt. So many men must be pining over the fact that they can't be _with_ Kurt. Kurt is the perfect specimen with his long, tight legs and his flawless face, his overall gorgeous body. He works at an adorable coffee shop in a desolate town with pop songs etched into tables, and that very detail somehow makes Blaine even more attracted to him. It's not Blaine's fault if he wants to know Kurt better. If.

By paying closer attention to the décor of the Lima Bean, Blaine realizes that he does know Kurt a little bit better. He chooses to work in an environment that is decorated by someone who clearly doesn't care what the homophobic assholes think, and there is obvious personality drenched into the walls of the establishment. He awkwardly hopes that Kurt was in charge of the art and décor displayed within the shop. He wonders if Kurt is the influence behind the whole of Blaine's new favorite hangout: a music-driven coffee shop with personnel not bothered by his constant presence.

Blaine is the first to admit that the lyrics on all of the tables are pretty cheesy and super lame, and maybe even some of the worst lyrics there are within the pop industry. But his table speaks to him so abundantly; they bring back the dream he once wanted, his thrive for happiness and success. The lyrics put into speakable, singable words of exactly what was once his plan. It's virtually impossible now.

It's only a pipe dream, an absurd goal that is nothing more than a wish exhaled with warm breath, spitting and sputtering all over a birthday cake. He used to be able to see himself and a faceless partner, driving east with the town of Lima in the rear-view mirror, holding hands over the gears, heat blasting on high with the windows rolled down for the nip of a breeze. Then, eight to ten hours later, they would be skipping down a New York avenue, hand in hand, long gone and together.

Even when he was a child, Blaine always had a sneaky suspicion of the truth of his sexuality. Gratefully, and despite his family's efforts, he's never hated himself for it, not really, but he wishes frequently that he was born twenty years down the road.

But that's obviously not possible. Can he get out of this place? Only time will tell but probably not. He'll never be able to _really_ disappear, to escape the wrath of expectations, from his father. Would he ever find anyone to share his life with? No, absolutely not, that takes actual effort to try and love himself. He'd rather be alone for the rest of his life.

He sits, defeated by his own reality, but somehow still absolutely fascinated by every fluid gazelle movement alongside a table that offers a perfect view regardless of where Kurt is floating. He keeps his study materials open at all times as a somewhat believable excuse, but he is admittedly indulging in more than studying Math and English. He's studying Kurt.

_It's just the GED. Fuck studying, I could have passed that shit in the second grade. _

Blaine makes sure he is always out of the house between the hours of nine and three by marking in his brain to always be at the coffee shop. This is not to study, but to avoid as much time as possible at home during normal business hours, considering his father works from the home office most mornings and takes his meetings in the afternoon into happy hours and dinners. He accepts his destiny of being beaten twice a week on average lately, however, and he knows that is now his normal capacity of what his life has to offer, regardless of any efforts to always stay away. He really has no place to go anyway, so he gives up trying. He is convinced he'll never be worth someone else's (or his own) love for as long as he should live, thanks to the thoughts that nearly everyone in his family engrained in his head from a very early age.

He only avoids rethinking the overload of _fatherly advice_ every time he orders at the counter of his newfound safe haven, the Lima Bean, meeting cerulean eyes with the same coloring as the globe. He sees into them again when he waits for his coffee to be poured or his croissant (sometimes chocolate, sometimes plain) to be warmed up. He floats into another universe, where an entire conversation passes through each other's hearts seamlessly and without tension or fear of saying something wrong for the other's ears to hear.

There's something beyond the physical that pulls Blaine to Kurt. It's like the universe has arranged this chance meeting and wouldn't allow them to walk away from it if their lives depended on it. Sometimes, he looks at Kurt already looking at him and he can just tell that he feels it. Oddly enough, Blaine recognizes that watching Kurt every day at work doesn't feel wrong or creepy or unwelcomed. It feels natural, easy, like he can't remember what his life was like without Kurt in it. It's like all of his past lives wound up with Kurt in them; he's not learning anything new, he's remembering. Blaine realizes now that he has a constant in Kurt, even just his presence without spoken words.

Their interaction, or lack thereof, soon becomes a game, a challenge of who's going to speak up and start a conversation first. The tension is thick, but somehow still welcomed, insisted upon from both parties. Blaine feels complete, knowing that Kurt is present. _He exists. _There's a tie between the two that he can't understand or explain, but doesn't feel the need to because he likes it even if it stays as it is now. To know that he is _there_ – that someone is there – is enough.

It sounds crazy in Blaine's head, as he's sure it sounds in Kurt's. Regardless of the silence, the Lima Bean becomes a safe and comfortable place for Blaine in a way he so desperately needs but never realizes. He is protected within the walls of a measly coffee shop on Main Street, and he actually wouldn't have it any other way. The _Lima Bean_ and _studying_ and _watching_ _Kurt_ quickly become a tireless routine. He is nothing without his routine. Blaine is finally content on some level; he can finally escape the mess and constant drama of his parents' house, and can almost feel like he belongs somewhere. It's like he's always belonged right where he is.

_June_

It is Monday morning, two full weeks into his new normal routine. At last, there is no honest evidence of the previous incident with his father, no more traces of hate painted on his skin. He's surprised that Christian has let off of him for this long.

Staring at people (only one matters) and reading boring excerpts from textbooks doesn't really hurt much. The past week, though, Blaine's days have been full of scouring the Internet for sample tests courtesy of the coffee shop's free WiFi connection (entitled "The Rachel Berry on Broadway Project, Not Starring Me"… reasons are unknown).

He had made it a point to wrap himself in practice exams he's found this week as though he were in an actual classroom, and like the curriculum was actually challenging. Spreading out on his usual table in a mess of pencils and scribbled-upon papers so thick and crinkled with notes they crease at the corners, he stares at but doesn't really look at the papers in front of him.

English has always come naturally to him, as it should, and he has never understood how the imbeciles of Crazytown, Ohio, could never differentiate between your and you're, or effect and affect. Allowing his brain to expand to bigger, broader thoughts than just Lima, he also doesn't understand how anyone could not determine the correct rules and exceptions of the language they fucking speak fluently.

Blaine is admittedly distracted. In the past few hours, he's only thought about his life and how it might interfere with Kurt's, The Dalton Academy for Boys out in Westerville, and the English language or lack thereof as it relates to the losers from his hometown. He has thought nothing of the complications that studying for the GED might force upon him, but he admittedly doesn't have to really try to ace this thing, anyway. He knows how book-smart he is; where he lacks in skills is on how not to get caught with a thesaurus down his pants.

He's always distracted, always staring into space and contemplating philosophical wonders of the world, trying to figure out how his old friends are, and if they'd ever want to see him again if he ever decided to give them a call. He had totally isolated himself from their lives; could it be so easy to ask for forgiveness and just hang out again like old times, without the questioning of his black eyes and bruised ribs? His mind drifts to his friends from his old life. Jeff and Nick played the important role of his main support system throughout the coming-out fiasco of eighth grade, and they are the reason Blaine decided to transfer to Dalton in the first place, but he hardly knows them anymore. He does know, however, that neither of them would ever need a law counselor parole officer girl, like little Miss Snarky Santana Lopez. He knows that he's the most likely to fail in life out of all of the boys from Dalton, and he has seemingly ruined his life and created a record for himself just to subconsciously demand attention from his parents who hate him.

Blaine yearns for normalcy but doesn't know how to go back to his old life without entering the foster care system, and that's scarier to him than jail. He's desperately trying to ride it out until he's eighteen and then he can be free, far away from here. He does not want to discuss anything with Santana, not yet, and the longer he can put that off, the better. He knows that the story of his life is an inevitable conversation with his parole officer, but he doubts that she'll even believe him.

_Christian Anderson is a good man; he'd never hurt his child for being gay. He defends the gays who kill their bullies all the time! _

He hopes she doesn't try because things could get ugly if she pushes Blaine into a conversation he doesn't want to have; he knows this from experience on several occasions with basically everyone who has wanted to help.

He sneaks a quick peak at his newly replaced phone with the new number. He doesn't care what time it is, but he presses the Home button anyway to check, then sighs and clicks it back to black.

No one has this number; it was stupid to even replace the phone, to carry it around as if he's expecting a phone call or text message, after his last met the wall with rage when Lopez tried to take him under her wing and _care_. Everyone who's ever cared for him in the past has either left him alone, gave up, or stopped caring. The easiest way to not get hurt is to not get close to anyone. It's a simple concept that is not hard to fuck up.

He knows Santana Lopez's type – over-affected Lima Losers, stuck here to rot away by their own fault, but still attempting to assist the unworthy. Come to think of it, Blaine assumes that this is also Kurt to a tee, and it scares him that Kurt might hold him back in life, back in Lima, if they inevitably hook up and spend part of their lives together. Maybe he just wants a younger play thing. Even so, Blaine's sure he'd oblige.

It's natural. They are both human beings with desires. He glances up to where Kurt is once more and proudly gathers his proof of mutual fascination and stores it in his brain to use later. Blaine smirks at himself, lost in his own thoughts completely unrelated to the stupid GED preparation and entirely all about not being able to move his arms or legs as Kurt pounds into his pucker ruthlessly.

Despite Kurt's fucked-up life on display for Blaine to analyze, Blaine knows that he's safe here at the Lima Bean. It's not fair, but he doesn't want to be judged by Kurt the way he's judging the man, and he has a feeling that Kurt wouldn't anyway. He knows that his father's office is nearby so he might see his assistant here occasionally, or a co-worker, but he doubts that they would ever approach him now, so he escapes from the shield he's built with every jingle of the bell to announce his arrival.

He bounces to the line a little late this morning thanks to the complex thinking, and he is euphoric in this moment by himself with no one to answer to. He waits for his coffee and croissant because he's proud of his survival thus far. There is a feel-good tune in his ears, something encouraging and willing to make the best of his day, regardless of how shitty the rest of them may be. He brushes Kurt's hand when he purposely reaches for his cup like he does every morning, and proceeds to the condiment counter to mix and taste and mix again. He sits at his table, opens his English textbook, and refreshes his memory of eighth-grade-level rules and regulations of his prominent language.

Kurt once felt like his potential could seize him soaring all the way to New York City, NYADA, then to Broadway and Marc Jacobs and and beyond. Kurt is a dreamer; this list of dreams, though, is currently closed and painstakingly unavailable. He put his life on hold so many years ago on account of escaping Eddie, the abusive ex-boyfriend, and is still trying to regain the motivation he had at one point to make things happen. He misses his college days, when he felt he could do anything: joining the revolution of same sex marriage while designing a full Fall Collection and coursing through the latest theater announcements for the new slew of open calls. Nights would forever include galas with celebrities and buzzing around the Vogue office until the deadlines were met with the creative department and ad agencies, and positively encouraging one-lined emails from Ms. Wintour herself.

Smack; reality appeared. The graduation ceremony at Lincoln Center came and went, and Kurt found himself sweating through a brutal July, sitting on a milk crate in the middle of the Bushwick apartment on Irving Street that he most certainly could not afford by himself, next to his last remaining suitcase, waiting for his father, his amazing always-supportive-no-matter-what father Burt, to hurry up and pee before hitting the road or getting a ticket for double-parking the U-Haul downstairs. He felt like the closure to New York had been a long time coming, with that of his brutal breakup and nothing really happening the way he'd wanted it to. He felt like it was time to kiss New York goodbye, maybe not forever but definitely for the time being. This reality became Kurt's destiny after his best friend and now ex-roommate, Rachel, was summoned to Los Angeles for a TV pilot that later was picked up and promised money and fame and sunshine in Malibu on her days off. He was ecstatic for her, really. He was also envious, so envious, and missed her and all of her crazy, supportive love.

At the end of Kurt's own evaluation of his life as he knew it in New York, there was just no financially stable way to keep his East Coast lifestyle with his school loans looming over him soon like the blackest of hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar clouds and his minimal-at-best salary between the three jobs he held. At Rachel's announcement, their third roommate, Santana, bailed so even if he had wanted to stay, even if he hadn't already given up as soon as "I got the part!" left Rachel's lips, his decision had been made. He moved home, to Lima.

It was supposed to be a year or two at most, but then everything happens for a reason, and Finn happened and he couldn't seem to _want_ to leave again. Finn, his stepbrother, was the superman that saved him from high school. Finn rescued him from himself, encouraged him to stand up to the bullies and the assholes, and pushed him to step into the limelight he deserved by moving to New York with Rachel for college.

Finn was so selfless, seeing off two of the most important people in his life to a city that could very well swallow them whole, but the faith Finn had in both of them pushed them to continue. With every ramen-flavored dinner and every babysitting gig, the two survived because _Finn_ believed in them.

He's been gone for several years now, and there's not a day that goes by that Kurt doesn't feel incomplete without Finn by his side. The loss of his brother hurts, but leading a life _without_ Finn gets to be more normal as the years go on.

As each senior class graduates from McKinley High, the first ever National Championship Glee Club gathers by Finn's tree to remember him. On every graduation day since Finn passed away, they have returned together to the tree behind the football field to catch up for each other and for Finn. Everyone has made it a point to be there for the past six years except Rachel. She hasn't even been there once. Today, Kurt gets ready as best he can and goes to remember his brother. On his drive over, he thinks about the times he's wanted to call Finn. He stores those instances away for use in front of the group.

_Everything is always temporary and nothing is permanent. _

This is Kurt's mantra he's been repeating for years. This is what he chanted under his breath as Rachel signed the Lima Bean over to him five years ago when her father left it to her in his will; she couldn't possibly step foot back in Lima with her last remaining father _and_ Finn gone. Rachel is the over-determined, under-nostalgic annoying little friend that keeps on giving, and although her reasons for Kurt obtaining the Lima Bean were selfish, it's worked out for the best. He'd literally be nowhere without her always saving him. They survived in New York together, they mourned together, and they went their own ways.

Rachel started out as a silent partner in the Lima Bean business, splitting any profit with Kurt 40/60, so long as he had complete interior design control over the look and feel of the place. You can do whatever you want, Rachel said. I trust you, Rachel said. It was all his and she'd just wait for her checks and help him out with the income taxes and filing at the end of each year. She made good on all of the promises, and when she was making enough of her own through TV and appearances, she gifted the other 40% to Kurt completely. She's his best friend… his best friend that hasn't seen him in years. He should really go visit and see how the other half lives. Or at the very least, call her.

His apartment is conveniently located directly above the Lima Bean. When Rachel signed over the coffee shop, she was actually gifting him the entire building, unbeknownst to him until he unwrapped his Christmas present, an oversized box with a bow bigger than his head, containing only two house keys. _Only Rachel gives a house away for Christmas, a holiday she doesn't even celebrate._ He probably could have rented it out for an additional income and stayed in his old room two miles to the east at his father's house, or he could have actually grown up and had a place of his own. The choice was his.

Even though it was only Downtown Lima and not New York or LA, Kurt spent the better portion of his extra profits from the coffee shop to make his apartment as Hummel-fied as possible. He ordered custom upholstery for his custom furniture, and made his drapes himself from a tulle and leather-bonded fabric he found on the Internet, shipped directly from Tel Aviv. His color scheme was warm and neutral, with small details that were more feminine than most men would have preferred.

Kurt made the apartment his, so completely Kurt that he was comfortable staying in. He couldn't be in New York anymore, at least not alone, where memories could haunt him constantly until driving him mad, so he subconsciously made the best out of a situation that was second best to all of his previous dreams. He didn't have much in Lima anymore, so he spent all of his time decorating and redecorating the apartment for his own personal enjoyment. Regardless of how smooth the throw was neatly folded across the back of the couch, or where he got the silk for his comforter, the apartment still seemed to miss something, like there should have been someone else there to enjoy time the home. Kurt couldn't shake the feeling of how cold his bed felt or how quiet it was when the television wasn't set to Bravo. Unfortunately, this is something he'd gotten dreadfully used to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Song used in this chapter: The Lumineers – Ho! Hey!**

_July _

As the days blend and each week continues as a monotonous lack of event, Kurt is satisfied to see he's secured an infatuating new regular customer in Blaine. It's now been just over a month since he's started coming in, and Kurt is still blown away by the mystery, this broken boy literally falling into his lap for him to put each piece together. He longs for _moremoremore_; there's no denying his feelings, especially since he can see the desire in Blaine's eyes as well. Kurt watches the boy watch him conspicuously throughout his days, transparently mauling his way through an oversized prodigious project. Kurt had observed the evident lack of school in this boy's life when it wasn't the summer, so maybe he takes night classes or is only studying for the sake of his brain not turning into mush during the break.

Kurt respects Blaine's desire to have a habitual spot at the Carrie Table. He tries to determine if Blaine sat there because of the lyrics, or because it's the location most convenient to the door and condiment station. Maybe Blaine chose this spot so he could scare some homophobic bitches away and they could finally live in peace, instead of pretending to love every single Ohioan even though they'd boycott his place if they weren't ignorant enough to realize Kurt's as gay as they come.

He takes note that Blaine doesn't prefer change to adaptability when he orders the same coffee and breakfast croissant (although varied between sweet and savory) after claiming his usual table every morning at exactly 9:05, or the same Turkey, Brie, and Cranberry mayo sandwich with a Green Tea Lemonade at 1:30 on the dot. He pays with a crisp twenty every morning. Kurt gives him back a ten and three singles, only to be reacquainted with the used and bruised ten every afternoon. Kurt returns two singles after his lunch purchases. Kurt knows the simple math; Blaine has five dollars left over daily, but does not use the change the following day, coming in with a fresh twenty daily. Kurt naturally has a magnetic pull toward the broken boy and won't stop yanking him in until he's inseparable. Blaine Anderson is a mystery staring him in the face.

Kurt makes a pact with himself to follow Blaine's lead when it comes to conversation, as much as he longs for words despite the first words weeks ago not being so pleasant. Kurt's attracted to him, there's no doubt, but Blaine seemingly has not pushed to talk and this ruins Kurt's self-esteem. He finds himself flustered and nervous, but excited and jittery in the best way possible every 9:05 and 1:30. Making a point to be close enough in case today's the day that Blaine wants to talk, Kurt keeps plugging away every single uneventful day.

He is, rather uncharacteristically, spilling full gallons of milk, juggling them in an effort to catch them before catastrophe. He's slamming metal canisters filled with coffee beans together recklessly, and he is scrambling to deliver orders in a timely fashion. He is not succeeding in deciphering the difference between several abbreviations on the paper cups from his employees, even though he is the significant deal breaker on what each letter means. He's not ordering enough coffee on Monday afternoons to get the shop through the following weekend, and he is truly slacking on every aspect of his business all because he's nervous in the presence of this other boy. Kurt is flustered and uneasy around him, and considering he's made the Lima Bean his own personal library, Kurt troubles himself to at least try to act normal around Blaine.

Kurt Hummel is officially distracted.

It's 1:27 and Kurt is sitting at his desk in the back room. He is chewing on his pen reading over an email request from his favorite employee, Julie, about vacation time for the fifteenth time. She's written something along the lines of "Don't blame me if my parents just want to celebrate my existence by taking me to Hawaii for two weeks, Kurt, but that also means I'll be out of work for that time." Kurt's eyes keep getting stuck on "blame" and his mind wanders to the Goldschläger eyes; the ribbon of bells attached to his door he yearns to hear again, the short but stacked stature. Kurt's mind drifts back to those eyes; Blaine literally has gold specks floating in his eyeballs.

Kurt tries to concentrate on the email response log as best he can, but finds the laptop slammed shut, the chair harshly pushed out from under him, and suddenly he's behind the pastry case within the store patiently awaiting 1:30 on the dot.

At 1:30, eyes meet Blaine's when he approaches and waits one person deep in line. It's not terribly busy, but busy enough for a consistent flow. Blaine's pencil is tucked on top of his ear and his brow is furrowed in deep thought before he rips his eyes away from Kurt and lands on the sandwiches. In the aftermath of the way Blaine looks at him, Kurt could not announce the color of the sky or the particular day of the week it is right now.

As if Blaine actually needs to think about which sandwich he'll choose, he stares into the selection like they're about to put on a show. Kurt fights Julie to take over the register as Blaine rummages through until he finds his usual, balances it between his arm and pit while he switches it up and grabs a water bottle. This throws Kurt, and he has to void his proactive ringing into the register, a bit flustered and too concentrated on the buttons and the ring of the machine. His finger slips three times until he's slamming his pointer against the key, but then looks to Blaine with expectation of some sort of explanation for the switch from green tea to just water.

The boy reads his mind. Blaine clears his throat nervously. "Umm… I think there's too… too much sugar in your shaken tea lemonade."

Kurt raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

Blaine continues, "I'm constantly on a hyper insane run-around-the-neighborhood-at-full-speed rush after I leave here every day and I just figured out that it's probably that stuff."

"It probably is. It's pretty sweet." Kurt stares at Blaine's features, drinking him in, gulping so hard he's bursting at the seams.

Blaine nods. "It'd be a travesty if I got diabetes and had to sue the owner for insulin money. I'm doing both of us a favor."

"Well that would be me. So, thanks for not sending me to bankruptcy, I guess."

Blaine is a beautiful boy, with amber eyes and a black ring around the color. They stand out prominently in an effort to bore every person into them; they're slanted at a small angle, not quite enough to be fully pan-Asian but probably a sliver of Asian descent. His nose is a little too European for the rest of his face, and his cheeks meet his rigid jaw line, and that shape should actually be illegal, or at the very least come with a warning. His mouth is lined with red lips as though he's wearing gloss instead of saliva, and his tongue shoots out regularly to keep them wet. His mess of curly, black hair is exactly the haircut Kurt would have asked for in his dream lover, and his short and stout stature turns Kurt on like no other for reasons he hasn't had the effort to think about. He's muscled, Kurt thinks, but he definitely doesn't work out all day every day and the amount of croissants he eats gives him a little pouch. He's cute, which makes him adorable, which makes him hot, which makes him out-of-this-world sexpot delicious.

Blaine jerks his head in what's supposed to be a nod, shrugs with one shoulder, and shoves the usual ten-dollar bill at Kurt. They fail miserably to make any eye contact, although they are both actively trying. Kurt accepts the money and the curse/blessing of Blaine's outstanding eyes, and makes the change before handing him a few napkins and a plastic knife.

"Thanks."

"Thank you."

* * *

_Well, damn. That was intense._

Blaine pulls his meal into his hands and turns to make his way back to the table, effectively building up his walls again with each step. He unwraps and separates his sandwich to spread the cranberry mayo a bit more evenly than the maker might have preferred this morning. He is starving. He sighs into his bite and glances up to catch Kurt watching him. He stalls his chomp, grasping the baguette and its insides within his mouth for a few seconds, and locks eyes with Kurt. At Kurt's refusal to turn away for the first time _ever_, Blaine subtly nods to the empty chair across from him. Kurt responds by nodding once for no one but Blaine to see and holding up his pointer to signify "one minute" or "hang on a second" before disappearing into the back.

In this moment, Blaine wants to just let go. He wants to break down the walls he's built up for the sole purpose of avoiding the sharing of his secrets. He wants to load off his secrets with Kurt; he feels like he's known him forever. He talks himself out of it though, in an effort to keep Kurt close. He figures he's let down enough walls for today by simply inviting him over. He'll try to progress further if this goes well.

To mask his eagerness of Kurt's return, and ultimately his conversation with Kurt, he scans the room with a mouth full of bread. Only because it was already in his mouth before the unspoken agreement that they should sit together for lunch, Blaine takes one bite of his sandwich before he places it back on the packaging and waits, staring at the limp lettuce. His tongue slides across his teeth to ensure there is no reminisce of lettuce or cranberry string or turkey skin, or the super unattractive glob of bread ball that sometimes gets stuck between his two front teeth. He takes a quick sip of water and swishes a bit to loosen any food in his teeth and pops a piece of gum from the front pocket of his messenger bag onto the flat of his tongue and chews rapidly, like it's a race to the finish line to see Kurt's eyes staring into his own. He straightens his pile of books into a stack that's barely noticeable, and pushes it to the corner farthest away from where he assumes Kurt might sit. He stares at the books, turns them from horizontal to vertical, in an effort for everything to be perfect, then back to horizontal before giving up and dropping them into his messenger bag and placing the bag on the empty seat next to him. To further distract himself from the minutes, hours, years Kurt has him waiting, he forces the water bottle into a series of counterclockwise pirouettes, trapped between his hands and getting dizzy. He focuses on the beauty of the blur as the cap swirls too fast, then ganders on as it plunges to the ground in the slowest of motions. He watches it go without reaction until it's too late. He blinks and bends to retrieve it from under the table, but it rolls and wedges itself tightly under the condiment station, just an inch out of his reach. Blaine is on all fours in an attempt to pull it out of a space that is somehow too thin for his forearm, but thick enough for an entire bottle of water. "What th-the… how the hell… motherfucker…" Blaine mumbles to himself and kicks back up to sit his ass on his heels, perplexed and unsuccessful in reclaiming the bottle. He feels Kurt watching him, and it takes everything in him to forget about it for a minute. He wipes the bead of sweat off his forehead, because apparently this task exerts him like it's the first lap of a fucking marathon. He tilts his head at the space that ate his water bottle, and it looks like he's putting a spell on it to show itself at once. He bounces back up on his feet, pats his pocket to make sure he has his wallet, and grabs a new bottle of water just as he sees Kurt there, watching him intently like he's prey and Kurt is really hungry. He stops his world to watch him make his first step toward Blaine.

"Blaine." He hears from behind him. He turns at the unfamiliar voice and finds none other than Santana fucking Lopez standing there with a hand on her hip and her phone to her ear before she snaps out of it and ends the call, presumably trying to get in touch with him moments before. He sneaks a glance at his silently blackened iPhone. She still has the old number.

He snaps into a scowl and tries to literally strangle her with only the force of his eyes. _Fuck this stalker bitch, who the hell does she think she is? _

* * *

Kurt barrels into the employee restroom and locks the door with a flick of his wrist. The water is running at full blast, and he pushes his palms against the edge of the sink. He gazes at himself in the mirror and shoots a model-smile in the sexiest way he knows how. Kurt is convinced he is the unsexiest specimen ever to walk this earth, despite his confidence that first time he and Blaine spoke, and he's never thought of himself as someone who would deserve a partner to spend his life with, or even a quick lay and pillow talk. He shakes himself out of it; all Blaine did was invite him over for a conversation, not to marry him and pick a surrogate. He groans loudly from the back of his throat and stomps his foot. Is it childish if no one witnesses the action? _If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?_ _Why won't these feelings go away? _He examines his face in the mirror.

Kurt has a long, curling list of imperfections he could pick out about himself at the drop of a dime, in a world where he just wants to feel beautiful, wants to prove he can _be_ beautiful. More than that, he wants someone else to acknowledge him as beautiful. But then again, he must be a mess, since no one in the world wants him, or ever really did with the exception of one very abusive man for a few years. He doesn't allow his mind to drift to Blaine, not really, because the unspoken connection they seem to have is just too much right now. Kurt knows nothing about him and yet can't stop thinking about him. Holding his ground and not speaking until he's spoken to has been the most frustrating feat that Kurt has ever put himself through, especially because the subject in question was _Blaine_. Blaine, in all his glory, who clearly doesn't feel this way about Kurt. Kurt concludes he holds the control to make sure he can still feel. He collapses to the floor in one fluid movement, and sobs over the soft music overheard from the speakers in the main room of the coffee shop.

_I've been trying to do it right_

_I've been living a lonely life_

_I've been sleeping here instead_

_I've been sleeping in my bed_

_I've been sleeping in my bed._

Several minutes are lost forever, and he must regulate his breathing and face the cynical reaction his brain is screaming of the first true conversation with the boy he knows nothing about but wants to experience everything with. _I want everything with you. _He stares at his own face and breaks the glare before he can count to thirty, takes a long breath in and exhales, pulling the door open and striding back into the main room of his establishment. He starts to march to Blaine's table, pausing to watch him struggle to retrieve something from under one of the counters. He tilts his head, enjoying the bent over view, the bubble of the boy's ass. The ribbon of bells announces a customer. As any polite business owner, he turns to greet the newcomer, who's already talking to… Blaine?

"Get the fuck out of my fucking face, slut!" It's all he hears, but Kurt needs to save… one or both of them from the altercation.

"Santana?" Kurt nearly screams his ex-roommate's name, in a screech of an octave he probably should be ashamed of. "What the hell are you doing here?" He runs, no, he _sprints_ to her side and wraps his arms around her tightly so he can prevent what she'll do next, pulling her away from Blaine so as not to throw a punch. She squirms away like it's a bullfight and crosses her arms, allowing the corners of her mouth to ascend to heaven just a little bit.

"Hummel. I'm working. Please, for the love of God, keep it professional. You're going to scare the kid I'm hunting away."

"I don't care what you're doing! You're here! What are you doing here? Why are you in Lima? It's only been a few weeks, but why are you here now? Did you move back! Do you still live in the city? Wait, you're working? You hunt children? Does that mean you moved home? _Oh my God_, tell me everything." Kurt is transformed into a happier version of himself, his college self. He knows he's rambling. He takes her hand in both of his and walks her over to the counter.

It's only been since this year's Finn Memorial that Kurt saw Santana last. They tend to keep in touch the most out of the whole group, in between graduation days. This is why he's most surprised to see her live and in living color, standing in the middle of the Lima Bean without any prior announcement.

He pulls her closer to the counter. "Get this little gem anything she wants. Anything!" Leaving Blaine in the dust, completely ignoring his existence, he points at Julie behind the cash register and nods enthusiastically toward Santana. "Anything you want!"

"You already had what I want." There's a beat. Santana smirks. "Wanky."

Kurt laughs from his belly, possibly for the first time in months upon months. His eyes shift into Blaine's direction and sighs when he sees him seething, staring out into nothing and seated once again in his usual chair.

Santana rolls her eyes then grazes up Kurt's forearm as a hint of affection and orders a coffee and grabs a pre-packaged Caesar salad, glancing over her shoulder at Blaine, shooting him an "I'm watching you" glare before focusing on Kurt's interrogation.

"So, what's going on? Are you doing okay?" Santana takes a sip of her latte, obsessively perfect thanks to Kurt's strict espresso artistry training, spread throughout all of his minions.

"I'm fine. Actually, better. I feel like maybe this is the year that everything will change?"

"This could definitely be the year, Hummel. It's about time. And besides, we can be real-life friends again since I'm here to stay for awhile. I can walk you through it."

Kurt rolls his eyes. _It's good to have Santana back._

* * *

Blaine analyzes the entire exchange between Kurt and Santana. Of _course_ they fucking know each other, God dammit. They're laughing together, and Kurt's laugh is captivating.

Blaine replaces his retired water and slams his sandwich in a race to the finish. He pockets his phone and gathers the few dollars that are partially overlapping the lyrics on the table and shoves them crinkled in his wallet. He grabs his messenger bag and prepares to go. He cannot befriend, romance, fuck his parole officer's best fucking friend; this is ridiculous.

He feels like such a damn failure for wanting Kurt like that. There's nothing he can do about it, except distance himself until the constant hard on deflates or he stops thinking so much… or _something_. Something's gotta give. Blaine wearily approaches the pair and stands behind them, kicking at the invisible scuff on the floor with his eyes trained to his feet. Kurt must have a sixth sense entirely dedicated to Blaine's actions because he turns around with hardly a second to spare.

"Blaine." Kurt's voice is surprisingly calm, collected, and actually charming. Blaine looks to Kurt's face and there's a look of pity. _Of course, Kurt must feel bad for me._

Blaine straightens and cocks an eyebrow, definitely not for the last time in his life. "I gotta go." He nails in the last of the foundation to his newly rebuilt walls. Soft can't be part of him. His face distorts into a disguise. His disgusting mood swing is in full effect. "I can't concentrate with you guys loving all over each other or whatever the fuck this is. Aren't you umm… fuck." He gestures between them with a scowl plastered on his top lip, like he can't stand either one of them, but really the words are said for the sake of shock value. Reality serves it up on a silver platter of difference; Kurt's outburst is adorable.

Kurt raises his eyebrow.

"What is it that you're asking, Blaine?"

"Do you enjoy the company of other men?" Santana reads Blaine's mind and laughs_. _"You know, Kurt. You should answer him. Are you gay?"

Kurt blinks and shifts his eyes anywhere but directly in front of him where Blaine is standing. His reaction to the question is obvious in his blush. "What is it that you do over there all day, anyway?"

"None of your fucking business, pretty boy. Maybe I should come in the back door in the morning so we can get down to business straight away? Every time you speak, I can't help but wonder what your mouth would feel like wrapped around my cock. Clearly, I… enjoy the company of other men too." Blaine is jealous that Santana knows Kurt better than he does. They're probably fucking, regardless of orientation.

Santana blinks, still watching them as she takes her coffee from the barista slowly, eyes shifting between the two.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Good for you. You know what, Blaine? You can call me whatever you want. I've heard it all. Nothing you say to me is going to make you feel better about your life." Kurt looks at him, sighs in a way that suggests defeat, and looks to his feet. He looks back up at him. "Go home, Blaine."

"No! Don't go home, Blaine. I need to talk to you!" Santana pipes in, smirking because she knows she's nothing but a side note in this conversation.

"I'm just a poor little rich boy with daddy issues on the run from something that can't possibly be as bad as I'm hoping. You don't know me, faggot." Blaine shivers at his own use of that word.

His eyes soften for a millisecond, regretting his decision to say it outloud. He hears it every single day, it shouldn't have come as such a shock. It's another bullet point on the grand list of Why Blaine Anderson Should Hate Himself. "Fuck."

Kurt's face shows more emotion than Blaine's seen from his family in years. He's hurt, offended. Only by looking at his face, Blaine knows that Kurt is trying to hold his breath so he can will himself from breaking down and sobbing right in front of everyone.

Blaine steps to him and extends the muscles on the bottom of his feet so he can appear taller. He steps closer so that he's in Kurt's face, forcing Kurt to lift his head and stare into his eyes. Their lips are inches away, and both can't help but offer a glance to the area. They are both searching for a hint of anything to back down from.

"You. Know. Nothing. About. Me. Kurt." Through gritted teeth, he examines him again, scanning his eyes from the tip of his hair to the bottom of his feet in what he hopes is somewhat intimidating. Kurt cowers into himself, defeated, a particular glint shining in his eye that may be the beginning stage of tear shed. Blaine knows, now, that he has the upper hand. "Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Making me wait an eternity to say two words to you, and then just ignoring me when your little stiletto whore walks through the door?" Blaine steps off. "You can't tell me that you don't feel this, Kurt." He whispers the last part, like a secret. He's not sure if Kurt hears it at all.

* * *

He repositions his bag that slipped off his shoulder at some point. "Whatever. Fuck both of you. Don't try to find me, I'm gone." He huffs and escapes the coffee shop, the slightest hint of tears in his own eyes for reasons unknown. He collapses into the chair overlooking the sidewalk outside and slams the balls of his palms into his forehead and breathes.

Santana is right behind him and sits across from him.

"What's going on, Blaine?" He doesn't answer. "Please talk to me. I know I'm hired help, but I'm here to help only you. I'm on your side."

"No one is on my side, Lopez. Fuck off."

He pushes the chair out from under him and starts in on the familiar journey back to the house, dreading the possibility of his parents being there; it's earlier than usual and Blaine is terrified. He turns back after about a hundred paces and sees Santana calmly sitting with her back against the chair, gaping back at him in what appears to be shock. She must be new at this whole "shepherding bad boys" career.

It turns out that his parents aren't home. He doesn't really give a shit where they are. He loves that he's not smothered like every other teenager he used to know, but he probably wouldn't have been locked into an ankle monitor if they were around more.

Blaine casually fumbles into the foyer and throws his bag on the floor and his keys in the bowl. He stalks to the kitchen and juggles a can of Coke before retreating to the family room to catch up on whatever crap was recorded on the DVR.

He takes a shot or two directly from the bottom of his dad's half empty Jack Daniels sitting on a shelf. There seem to be half-empty bottles around a lot more lately. Washing it down with a sip of coke, Blaine decides that nothing's better than drinking (and crying) alone.

It has always been hilarious that the Andersons frequented the family room. The main television is here and the bookshelves are full of classics and modern works of every genre imaginable. There are piles of board games, exclusively saved for the next family night. They haven't had a family night in twelve years.

Blaine sighs and hops over the back of the couch into his spot, but unfortunately lands straight on top of his brother, who is napping with a book folded on his chest.

"What the actual fuck, man?" Cooper is startled awake and folds his body upward in defense. Blaine chuckles, but his heart's not in it. _Oops._

"Get the fuck out of my face, Coop. Why the hell are you here?" He climbs off of him and settles for the other side of the couch, pulling one of the throw pillows behind him.

Cooper studies him carefully. "What's up with you, baby bro?"

"Leave me alone."

"Blaine… why are you acting out? Last time I was home, I had to bail you out or whatever, and now you're angry, why? I'm here because you need-"

"Shut the fuck up, Cooper! It's none of your fucking business, I'm just counting down the days until I'm eighteen and then I can get the fuck out of here and never talk to any of you assholes again!" He takes a swing at his brother, who stops his fists midway.

"Blaine… I didn't do any-"

"Fuck off!" Blaine shoots up and paces the length of the bookshelf, then runs upstairs and slams the door.

"Bro!" Cooper knocks on the door rapidly, not giving up any time soon regardless of how much of a master Blaine is at ignoring people and problems he doesn't want to face. "We gotta talk about this, man. Why are you so fucking pissed off at the world all of a sudden? It's been months since we've talked at all and I'm really worried about you."

Blaine listens to his brother's pleading for a few minutes longer before he surrenders. He unlocks the door; he's so tired. He can't deal with this shit anymore. He lets one tear go, and then they are flooding out of his eyes like the damn Panama Canal. He throws himself on his mattress face down, suffocating in the plush of the pillow.

"Dad's drinking is worse than I can remember."

Cooper looks at him, tilts his head, and engulfs him in a tight hug from behind. Cooper knows exactly what this means because he remembers every single time their father has advanced to the next level of alcoholism and the beatings were not fun.

* * *

"How the hell do you know Blaine Anderson?" Santana takes a sip and stares at Kurt, fully expecting an answer.

"Is that why you're here? How the hell do _you_ know Blaine Anderson?"

"He's the kid I'm chasing. My newest… um, project." Kurt raises an eyebrow. He's not sure he wants to know, so he lets it go for right this second. Kurt learns something new every day. Today, it's that the six degrees of separation exists and it's absolutely glorious. Although maybe it's under the wrong circumstance, Kurt finds himself relieved that he and Blaine have _someone_ in common.

The conversation breaks into the general catch-up and they reminisce the past. Santana is home because, like Kurt, everyone runs out of money after living in New York. Her moving home might have had something to do with the fact that there was a solid state job that showed its face so she accepted without really thinking. Now that her first month of work is under her belt, she can breathe and make herself known back in Lima and to any old friends that remain here. So far, she's only reacquainted with Kurt. She's pretty confident that he's the only one left here anyway. Even so, she's happy she ran into him and can rekindle the friendship she's missed.

"So the kid comes in here every day?"

"Yep, like clockwork. 9:05 until 3. He's been working on this project or something and only gets up to eat and pee. Keeps to himself." He shrugs, trying to play it cool.

He breaks.

"He is a complete mystery and the exchange you witnessed earlier was kind of the first real one we've ever had." _With words._ "Besides like coffee orders and stuff."

"He's probably studying for his GED." She ponders. "He's a baby, Hummel." She counters, a little concerned but happy he might be finally letting go of the past boys that used and abused him back in New York. "Seventeen."

"I didn't know that. He's seventeen?" _This requires a lot more thought than I'm able to do in front of Santana right now._

"You want to get to know him for me?"

"What?" _Yes. No, I can't. Seventeen means jailtime, doesn't it?_ "San, he's seventeen!" _Oh my God, he's seventeen._

"Obviously, but I didn't mean like _that_. Obviously you did if that's where your brain went first, though." She wiggles her eyebrows and continues. "I meant… hook me up and give me some juice on him. I need to get him back into school and he needs to get a job and I need to have something on him so I can make a strategy out of this hot mess. I need to blackmail him back into the conditions he's required."

Kurt shrugs, feeling uneasy of possibly betraying the boy's trust. "He's not in school?"

_Of course he's not in school, you idiot, he's at the shop every single day. But it's summer so who the hell knows. Fuck!_

Santana shakes her head. "What part of GED did you not understand, Lady Lips?"

Kurt ignores the old nickname. "And it's your job to get him back in school?"

"And keep him out of jail. He's been arrested like three times. Make sure he doesn't go past his four-mile mark otherwise his ankle monitor will beep and embarrass the hell out of him until the cops track him and arrest him again. Keep him from stealing. You know, the usual."

_Ankle monitor?_ "You are a probation officer."

She nods with a smirk.

Kurt laughs. "I can actually see it. That job fits you."

"I'm a badass, right?"

He hums his acknowledgement.

"The first thing you have to do for me is get his new number."

Kurt knows Blaine's situation is complicated, whatever it is. He knows that he has walls up that he never wants to break down, but he's seen the hole in the wall on two different occasions now, and he knows the walls could crumble because his very own crumbled with a few people in his own life way back in high school. He thinks that the real Blaine is the Blaine that works diligently on his studying, with the furrowed eyebrow and sincere concentration. The real Blaine is not the filthy language or the black eyes and cuts in his cheek. Kurt has to get through to this kid; he has to help. If that means fake-flirting with a teenager to help Santana help him, then that's simply the first step.

Blaine throws a curve ball and doesn't show up the next day. Kurt is entranced in different storylines of what could have possibly happened for Blaine to break his routine, but does not know how to approach the act of finding him. He knows nothing about Blaine, besides the fact that he comes here, and now that he's on probation and could only be within four miles of… somewhere. As the next day and the day after that passes, Kurt is convinced that he is just not coming back. Kurt had good intentions, and that's all that matters now. But Kurt curses himself for being _thisclose_ to having something that could make him feel good again, but eventually decides that the show must go on. Still, he snaps his head in the door's direction with every jingle and continues to be disappointed when each customer is not Blaine, but only a middle-aged woman in search for a caramel macchiato.

Kurt is repulsed by the knowledge of Blaine's age. Realizing he is eleven years his senior, Kurt shutters as he works through different scenarios in his head. He realizes that he graduated high school when Blaine was probably learning how to read and color within the lines. When Kurt was graduating college, Blaine was worrying about how many friends he might make in middle school, and going through the dreadful years of puberty and experiencing his first wet dream. It feels like it's too much, and Kurt would not be able to stop thinking about eleven years with everything that they may do together. Kurt is freaking out. _It would never work._

Kurt groans loudly and Julie glances at him in question. He waves her off and heads to the back room, making sure she knows where he's going. He sits at his desk in front of his laptop and types out Google's URL address. He stares at the blinking cursor in the search bar for a full minute before slamming the laptop shut, wailing like he's in pain. The statutes of limitations when it comes to statutory rape do not matter. He is not having sex with Blaine. Ever. Even if it was legal, which it's not, it's socially unacceptable and Kurt Hummel does not do socially unacceptable. He's too much of a taboo already.

_What the hell am I doing?_

"This is stupid." He says to no one.

Kurt laughs at himself, shaking his head, and gets on with his work.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: _

_Hello everyone! Checking in with all of you, making sure everyone's still liking it? :) I've posted the Lima Bean Playlist below for your listening enjoyment. This is basically the background music that's behind the boys every time they're at Kurt's coffee shop._

_I don't know if I told you guys this yet, but this is a completed piece of work and it's got 24 chapters and an epilogue. I'll be posting three times a week through January until it's done._

_Hope you're still enjoying! Please review, reblog, comment, etc... if you feel so inclined! And please, let's hang out on my Tumblr! I am /becausehiships. Much love :)_

**Lima Bean Playlist**

**Chapter 5**

No one knows where Blaine is, and for some reason he can't describe, Kurt is anxiously concerned.

It is Tuesday morning, 8:57am. It's now been a full week, and Kurt is worried for the stranger he wants to know. He doesn't have a good feeling about Blaine's disappearance, considering the first day they ever met involved a ridiculously swollen black eye and what seemed to be an excruciating limp.

Kurt shouldn't care; this boy is a stranger, a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

Santana started to camp out in the shop to find him, but gave up after four days of switching between the coffee shop and the address in his file. Like Kurt, she has a bad feeling about the situation, but she knows more details than Kurt. Blaine's father is around and either at home or at the courthouse, but apparently can never keep track of his own child. Blaine's father says Blaine does what he wants and there's no controlling him. Santana's confident, though, that if anyone can control anyone else, it's probably Christian Anderson.

Santana Lopez is admittedly a persistent bitch, even when she's assigned to keep track of one of the most difficult kids in Lima. She bothers Christian Anderson every workday several times a day, parked in the extensively stoned driveway, never thinking even remotely about back doors and the woods behind the house that Blaine has been using to his advantage to sneak in and out. It's a shame she's just a beginner.

It's a challenge for Blaine to never get caught, and it works until he's sick of the game.

* * *

It's business as usual at the Lima Bean, except that Kurt feels strangely incomplete and empty. This is crazy. Kurt knows nothing about Blaine, only that he is completely infatuated with him, and he can't even tell himself why. Rationally, he's only known him for a wrinkle of time in the grand scheme of things, and yet every day since he's seen the boy he regrets stealing too much time sobbing in the employee restroom after Blaine invited him to sit with him. He chalks it up as a (very unfortunate) loss and continues to clean the non-existent milk stains on the counter. He openly wonders if he'll ever see Blaine again, and prays to a god he hardly believes in that he'll waltz through the door at any given moment. The possibility of knowing Blaine is scary, and he tries to push all of the sexual fantasies out of his head, especially since Blaine is seventeen years old. He's _seventeen_, therefore it cannot happen. Even if Kurt wanted it to. Which he doesn't. Didn't. Won't.

As though Kurt's thoughts literally pull people out of hibernation, the ribbon of bells is suddenly thrown more harshly than normal and Kurt snaps his neck out of concentration only to see the messenger bag and curly hair and the scowl on puffed lips, and those kaleidoscope eyes. Kurt lets go of a breath that seems to always be held nowadays. He's relieved that Blaine is fine, at least physically.

Kurt throws the rag down, folds his arms across the stretch of his chest, and tilts his head knowingly. He could watch Blaine all day and never get bored; so long as no one catches him staring at a seventeen-year-old boy.

Blaine has allowed the pushed door to close fiercely behind him as he lingers by his normal table uncomfortably, silently cursing the two housewives already seated there with their MacBook Pros, typing furiously into WordPress and giggling over lattes. He's nervous and out of breath, but slumps into the lesser table next to his Carrie Table and starts to unpack his things. Scowling at the blonde facing him, Blaine is clearly trying to intimidate them into leaving. When they make no effort to do so, he huffs and tries to concentrate on whatever textbook he brought with him today.

Kurt nods to himself. _It's now or never._ He smears his hands on his apron, cracks his neck to both sides, and approaches Blaine, and Blaine of course beats him to the start of the conversation.

"Hey, pretty boy." He smirks and looks up at him, ignoring the books on the table that are fighting to be placed in some sort of order.

Kurt blushes at the nickname. "Blaine." He takes another chance and continues the discussion. "Where have you been? I was getting worried… given your um, history." _Smooth._

"I've been around, _babe_. Where have _you_ been?" He says, a bit too loudly. The housewives' conversation halts, and they stare at Kurt with disgusted looks on both of their Stepford faces.

"Right here. Business as usual." _Waiting for you. _He shrugs with one shoulder and looks down at the insanely interesting tiles at his feet.

"Waiting for me? I've missed you." The Stepfords scoff. They're absolutely repulsed. "You know, Kurt…" Blaine meets the eyes of the blonde one facing him. "I've really fucking missed you." Blaine ascends to stand directly in front of him, wrapping his arms around him teasingly and grinding lightly up and down, creating much-needed friction against Kurt's pulsing cock. Their bodies are connected down to their shins, and Blaine is conveniently positioned to stare at the ladies the entire time he's turning Kurt on.

Kurt pulls away as soon as he's able to move and twirls to follow Blaine's line of vision. He understands now. Blaine is such a little instigator and he thrives on the trouble he starts. Kurt looks back to him for a second before flickering away and concentrates on the loose string untangling itself where his pocket and the rest of the apron meet.

"_Okay_. Do you want your usual, then?" Kurt can't help but play along; he rests his hand on top of Blaine's for a few seconds and smiles. He loves scaring people with his gay; maybe Blaine could become his partner in crime. _No! He's seventeen_. He's never been this bold before; the feeling thrills his bones.

Blaine smirks at Kurt's refusal to lay down the truth for the two waiting housewives. He sits and crosses his GPS-infected ankle over the top of his knee and shakes it to attract the women's eyeline. He waits for their jaws to drop then he looks up at Kurt, looking back at him expectedly. The boy ponders for a minute then presses the Home button on his phone to check the numbers on his screen.

"About that time, I guess." He brushes his fingers from Kurt's elbow to his fingers, intertwining his fingers with the man's for a jolt of time.

Kurt shyly tries to pull back, but his fingers are yanked and suddenly his body is seated on Blaine's lap. They're inches away again, breathing in the same air, staring at each other's colorful eyes.

"This isn't a game, pretty boy. It's not just for them." Blaine kisses Kurt's cheek, who sputters and runs to duck behind the counter. He orders Julie to start preparing the "Blaine Original" and delivers the cup to the counter before Blaine can even make it to the counter to share his wishes for a warmed croissant with the girl at the register. Kurt appears to be racing against the clock.

"On the house today." Nodding to Julie in an unspoken demand to skip the ring in, Kurt smiles at Blaine.

"Let us know if you need anything else!" Julie exclaims in the bubbliest voice Blaine might have ever heard, especially for it being before noon. He glances from her to Kurt and nods in thanks, and heads back to his new, smaller table and stares down at the first of five books in his haphazard pile.

If Blaine befriends the owner of the Lima Bean, he might not want to escape. For now, he watches his new friend disappear into the background, apparently to "catch up on some paperwork," or so he says to the girl at the cash register.

* * *

"Kurt?"

"What's up, Julie?" He raises his head, buried in his hands only a second before.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh! Yeah, Jules. Don't you worry about me..." He trails off and flashes what he hopes is an assurance by way of smile.

This needs to end before it begins. Even his employees are catching on that he's absolutely seething in lust for this little boy, closer in age to his high school co-workers than to him. But, what if Blaine really just needs a friend? Someone to help him through a dark period of his life? Kurt can be exactly that for Blaine. Kurt can save Blaine. Kurt's determined to try.

He knows he needs to tell Santana that Blaine has finally showed up, but he decides that he will call her after lunch, after he has the opportunity to talk with him more. It feels like it is the perfect time for someone new to find his way to him; he really needs it. Kurt's routine has become monotonous and boring, and there was a time when Kurt had no idea what those words even meant. Kurt's been uninspired for years now, and it finally feels like Blaine would easily be able to fit into whatever revelation that was bound to happen in Kurt's heart. He needs someone to spice up his life a bit, but Kurt's still not sure if it could be Blaine, given his age and overall lack of experience, sexually or in life. He knows he should stay away.

It's not helping that it feels like a piece of thread is attached at both ends to each of them, and the pulling of the rope gets too tight for comfort when they are far away from one another.

Kurt is terrified that he could hardly function without knowing where Blaine was. He couldn't possibly concentrate on anything right now because they are in the same room again. He'll relay details to Santana once he knows some of Blaine's story for himself, once he knows the whole story. He doesn't think he would betray Blaine. Kurt's mind is inquisitive, and wants to know about the boy, despite his age difference, despite the fact that they could never be together, despite the fact that they could be nothing more than platonic friends. If he's being honest with himself, he's truly not sure if the draw to him is sexual at all, or if it's one of those soul mate pulls he learned about on the SciFi channel and in Nicholas Sparks novels. Maybe their souls actually are attached, sewn together at invisible seams, waiting for each end to notice the tension with the distance. _Whoa_.

Kurt's scared that he's even thinking about the impossibility of having Blaine to call his own. He realizes that eleven years is a huge age gap, and he knows that it's taboo in his lifestyle that's already taboo and strange, at least according to everyone in Lima. He wants to care about how wrong it would be, he even vocalizes it to Santana (several times) in a way that could only be construed as beating around the bush and hypothetical.

The morning glides by as if no time at all has passed. The coffee shop is extremely busy, giving no Lima Bean employee a chance to catch their breath. It's busy in a way that distracts Kurt enough from Blaine keeping tabs on him. He is aware of Blaine's eyes burning into his skin as he dances around the floor retrieving carbohydrates and coffee for his customers. The sexual tension looms above them both, like a dark creature swirling around their bodies, but Kurt makes a point to carefully attempt to focus on the job at hand. So somehow, he maintains the concentration and perseveres straight through a five-hundred-transaction morning.

Without notice, the small hand meets the 1 and the large hand meets the 6, and it is 1:30 in the afternoon. Kurt shifts gears and allows his other employee in for the evening to take over. He disappears to the back to wash up and to scrub the minor tint of coffee beans out of his knuckles. He's giving himself a pep talk throughout the practice, and he returns in what seems to be record time for him. The homophobic housewife bloggers have since disappeared, and Blaine is at his regular table, chomping away at his usual turkey sandwich. The cup of green tea lemonade with too much sugar is sweating and forming a small pool on the table, inching dangerously close to Blaine's notebook, scribbled on so hard one would be able to make out the words if they flipped the page to the next. Kurt snatches a few napkins and approaches Blaine's table, lifts the moistened cup without a word, lays the napkins on the surface, and replaces the cup on top. Blaine _almost_ smiles at him. With his mouth full and his spine hunched over his textbook, he reacts to the action with the simplest of words.

"Thank you."

Kurt smiles and gracefully sits across from him, his chin resting on the ball of his right palm, ruthlessly and shamelessly analyzing Blaine's features. He's not sure what's come over him, but he doesn't move to stop.

Blaine blinks in a question and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What? Is it gone?"

"Oh." Kurt snickers and covers his mouth. "Is what gone?"

"Why are you gaping at me? Do I have food on my face or not?"

"Just looking. Your little friends are gone." He jerks his head to the door, hoping Blaine would understand who he's speaking about.

They stare at each other; they're both at a loss for words. There is silence. There is a connection; everyone who would be so lucky to witness this moment would have no way to counter it. Blaine continues to stay locked to Kurt and bites into his sandwich again.

"So what's your favorite drink at Starbucks?" Kurt smirks. It's his best excuse for flirting.

Blaine looks surprised. He opens his mouth to speak, full of turkey and bread, but Kurt chimes in again.

"I mean, you haven't been around and so it leads me to believe you have another coffee shop that needs your attention. Are you cheating on me, Blaine Anderson?" Kurt's smiling; he hopes this comes off as a joke.

Blaine's baffled but lets out a silent squawk, "Only on the weekends."

They share a moment. There's a beat, and another one. The conversation turns serious, more like an interview than a talk between friends.

"You're a little young to own the Lima Bean, pretty boy." Blaine has no idea where his words come from. He can't stop, try as he might, each syllable rolling off his tongue in an extreme case of word vomit.

"I'm not that young. I'm not as young as you are."

"How _young_ are you?" Blaine smirks because really, he just wants to know.

"I've got oh… eleven years on you."

_At least he's still in his twenties. Even though he looks like he's nineteen._ "How old do you think I am?"

"I know how old you are."

Blaine stares, Kurt explains. "I used to live with your parole officer. She filled me in, as a warning maybe?" Kurt swallows the lump in his throat. "Although, I could have sworn you were at least eighteen when you first came in here. Had to be the overall demeanor." He smiles again. _Hopeful. I was hopeful you were at least eighteen. God dammit._

Blaine's mouth is shaped in a small "o." He drops the conversation there. He is brutally reminded that Kurt and Santana know each other. This cannot go on. He can't mess around, have a connection with, Santana's ex-roommate and obvious best friend or whatever.

It goes on. "Where did you live with Santana?" Blaine's word vomit is officially out of control.

"New York. We went to college there, but we're both from here."

There's a beat. Blaine continues to stare, so Kurt continues to talk.

"It's not the same in Ohio. There is nothing better than walking through Central Park by yourself with just your music. Hearing the crunch of the leaves under your feet with every single step on your way back from the subway? It's the best. It felt like home, more than Lima ever has, really."

"That was deep." Blaine has a teasing tone that Kurt can't deny, and this is what he is hoping for.

Kurt only shrugs.

Blaine gives him a pointed look.

"I just…"

"Boss! I need help with a void, please!" Austin, one of Kurt's employees, asks politely. Kurt smiles at Blaine and ducks behind the counter to assist with whatever complicated situation a coffee shop could possibly have in the middle of an afternoon.

* * *

Blaine was not expecting Kurt to be nice to him, to be forgiving especially after some of the embarrassing things he's said to him. He admittedly has said some of the most crass words he's ever let out of his mouth to Kurt's face so it's surprising when Kurt acts as though he actually wants to hold a conversation with him. Blaine knows that the things he says are all part of the cover-up act, but he is now actively wondering if Kurt can see right through him. This is so fucking dangerous. He scoffs at himself and shakes his head, lost in thought about a man eleven years older than him. Who knew he'd be so turned on by exactly that? Maybe he was only turned on because Kurt looks the way he does, or is the way he is. Blaine isn't sure what draws him, but it's something that he's not willing to give up without an honest try.

It is ten to three now, and Blaine begins to pack up. He is a boy of constant routine, because it's one of the few things in his life that he can control. Unfortunately, Blaine's father is home whenever he feels like it, and works from home when he can, bouncing from conference call to conference call, so he's a little less than predictable, at least when it comes to his presence. His mother arrives promptly at six thirty. Blaine finds his short time alone to be more than enough time for hoarding dinner for later and then taking his nightly shower. He reads or watches Netflix until ten or eleven in his double-locked bedroom, then masturbates to the image of Kurt's cock deep in his throat and falls asleep.

Today, though, Blaine is interrupted as he is pushing his stubborn notebook into his messenger bag at the completely wrong angle so it refuses to go in.

"Sorry I left so abruptly before." Kurt sits again, although he knows that Blaine is just about ready to go. This is a test to see if he'll stay.

"It's fine." Blaine shrugs. He's had time to put his walls up; he almost let himself slip there before, and he cannot let that happen with Kurt.

"So what were we saying?"

"Umm, how hot you'd look bouncing on my cock with your hair all plastered to your forehead with sweat and those high-pitched moans with every single thrust?" Blaine grins.

Kurt blinks, blushing to the tips of his ears. "We were definitely not talking about that." He leans in, his voice lowering darkly to the color of his midnight eyes.

"Inner monologue," Blaine leans in as well, too seductively for this to end positively, "pretty boy."

The older man snaps up straight in his chair, exploring the wonders of his cuticles. "Where do you go at three?" Kurt's brows are furrowed and he's closed himself off. It's like he's tried to figure out the details of Blaine's tight schedule for weeks and keeps coming up with nothing, and nowhere.

"Well, I usually wander to wherever the drugs are, and the hookers. At three o'clock in the fucking afternoon. Why are you asking me stupid fucking questions, huh?"

Kurt looks confused. He thinks he might be seeing double.

"I'm just kidding. I only go home. I've got to be home before my parents get back from work. Mainly to avoid them, since they really suck. I usually beat them back if I leave right around now." It's not lying, but it's not the truth either. At least it's easier to say than _so he doesn't beat me._

"Thrilling."

"There's not much else I can do with this thing attached." Why Blaine feels the need to say this, he'll never understand. Plus, he's saying it like it seems fucking natural, like he's meant to tell Kurt these things. Like he wants Kurt to know, and Kurt is absorbing all of this information about him like a sponge, as if _he_ wants to know, too. And for some reason, that makes Blaine feel wanted.

Kurt nods and offers a sad smile.

"I don't like the pity, Kurt." He stands. "There's a lot I could probably do within my four mile radius, I just don't feel like it."

"Why not?"

"You ask a lot of stupid questions." Blaine sighs. "I don't know. Out of sight, out of mind. They look for me so they can arrest me again. I hide here."

Kurt blushes again and shrugs. He tries to remain passive about Blaine's entire situation but feels like he's failing immensely. He searches for more words, if only for the sake of the conversation to never end.

"The movie theatre is within your range, I'm sure. The mall?"

"Stop creating things for me to do instead of this. I see you watching me all the time, stripping me with your eyes. Why don't we just get this done once and for all?"

They lock eyes until Kurt pulls away submissively.

"That's what I thought. But for the record? It's gonna happen. We both know it. See ya later, pretty boy."

Kurt blinks at Blaine's rough departure and halfheartedly holds down the fort at the Lima Bean for the remainder of the afternoon. The rest of his heart seems to have left with Blaine, going to wherever his home is, but he can make it work like this if Blaine promises to protect the pieces.

He decides not to let Santana know that Blaine is hanging around again, because he's disappointed that both exchanges he's had with the boy so far have been not enough for his satisfaction. He needs to get into the boy's head before Santana scares him away again, and he damn well knows that Santana will scare him away. If Kurt's name wasn't on the lease all those years ago in Bushwick, Santana probably would have scared him away from his very own apartment. More than once.

Kurt is convinced he'll get there with Blaine; at this point, he has to for the sake of his own sanity and challenge. He'll make sure Blaine knows that the Lima Bean is safe. He'll make sure Blaine knows that Kurt is a confidant that he can trust and rely on without question, regardless of who he lived with in college.

* * *

Blaine's abrupt adieu is not uncharacteristic to how he wants to be perceived by

Kurt, but it is alarming to himself when he follows through with it anyway. Blaine is still trying to get used to the closed off, bad boy act and he usually thinks he's doing an atrocious job at the newly sought-out identity, since he almost let it completely slip at the first example of genuine care from a total stranger.

Before Blaine came out four summers ago, and before his parents sent him to the conversion camp, he had always been in _control_ of his life. For the most part, his parents let go of the reigns and trusted him to be home at a decent hour. They never checked his homework; they let him hang out with friends to study or watch movies. Once he was officially out and proud, gay as the winter heat, the control was taken away. He became a victim to his father and his hatred toward him and the gay community. If Blaine wants to control something – _anything_ – away from home, then it's just a natural human instinct.

Through his few years boarding at Dalton Academy, Blaine had always been satisfied in his own skin. The zero tolerance bullying policy helped him tremendously to come into the realm of comfort. He'd been so proud of who he was, whoever he was, and didn't seem to get much crap for it. This is how he almost forgot about the shit life that was waiting for him back home. Dalton was a very sheltered environment and he knew that eventually he'd have to leave the warmth of school and the outside world would probably have some callous words similar to his father's.

The Andersons are a family under everlasting lookout from the public and community. Ohio's politics are dreadfully split down the middle, being a swing state come November every four years. Because of Christian Anderson's position in the courtroom, he feels the need to impress all politicians in Ohio, regardless of their stand on issues such as abortion or gay marriage. He has a lot of friends in high places, so whoever he and his colleagues support is usually the winner come November. When it comes to families, as far as his coworkers are concerned, Christian Anderson has two (straight) sons who were born and bred in private school, and he's proud of both of them.

This couldn't be further from the truth. Well, it's almost true.

The recent reality is that Christian Anderson is so fucking pissed off that God didn't hand him everything he deserved in a reputable family, that when he's not out wining and dining colleagues at galas and dinners and business meetings, he is in his home office with the French doors locked, slamming a few glasses of Johnnie Walker Green on the rocks. He dimly drinks away his issues with his wife that he's not attracted to ever since she gave birth, his son who's a self-proclaimed actor, of all things, and the faggot.

Christian Anderson, on the fast track to talent agency life like his father, went to the University of Michigan to study Entertainment Law before returning to the promise of a junior partnership with his own father. Somewhere on the road to success, though, Cornell Anderson's egotistical, set-in-his-ways son met a girl from rural Ohio and she did nothing short of brainwashing to rid him of his stench of Beverly Hills. Christian never set foot in Los Angeles again. He never even took his family there. Blaine, despite seeing his family a few times when he was a kid, never tried to locate his Californian relatives. He simply assumed that if his dad hates gay people, then everyone else on the Anderson side of the family must.

Ohio is where Christian Anderson can be found, living the suburban dream. He is always drunk, three sheets to the wind, and frequently comes home early and unannounced from work because he can. Blaine can't remember a time during his childhood when his father _wasn't_ drunk.

Blaine's slam of the front door rattles the foyer, and he recklessly tosses his keys in the bowl on the table there. He toes off his shoes, all the while singing along to whatever God-awful pop song is coming through his iPhone. This scene startles Christian, and he unlocks and ruptures through the doorway to witness whatever ruckus is audible in the next room over.

Blaine almost resembles a little kid in this moment, dancing around with a swivel of his hips, holding the refrigerator door open with his leg as he reaches to get the jelly, swinging around and up to grab the loaf of bread and sliding to the other side of the kitchen on his socks to retrieve the peanut butter. Christian's drunk, this is true, but he thinks his son might almost be happy in this moment alone.

Blaine twirls to a bottom cabinet and takes out a bottle of Jack. He takes a long sip, an almost chug as if it were water. He distorts his face because that shit literally tastes like rubbing alcohol, but it gives him the burn, the buzz, the control he needs.

Blaine turns around with peanut butter in hand and stops dead at the sight of his father.

"Where have you been, boy?"

Blaine swallows loudly, a lump now floating through the abyss of his stomach. _Where the hell did he come from?_ He has succeeded in avoiding his father face-to-face for a few magical weeks, on account of making sure that his bedroom door is locked at all times by the time his dad returns. He's only ever heard him downstairs in his office or pacing around the kitchen with his Blackberry attached to his ear or fingertips. Blaine is worried that he won't get out of this one unharmed, especially because his dad has clearly been drinking and he usually seems to pick up the bottle of whiskey when he's thinking of Blaine, _and_ the fact that he hasn't laid a finger on him in so long.

"Out. I've been out."

"Out. Out where?"

Word vomit. "Well, it definitely was within four miles from here, Dad, I can ensure you of that." Blaine thinks that he should go through the motions of smearing peanut butter and jelly on his slices of bread, slapping them together with a plop and smashing the two pieces down on a paper plate, so he does. This is mainly to look busy at his father's careful eye. He goes to the refrigerator and takes two cans of Coke, balancing the plate on both of them, gripping one can with each fist and hooking his thumbs up and over the edges of the paper plate with the sandwich balancing. He moves his leg once to take only one step toward the stairs that lead him to his room, but his father stalks to him until they are inches away from each other. Blaine twists at his waist to place the soda and sandwich back on the countertop in case this ends in a brawl, as he's predicting.

"Where did you go?" Christian is swaying haphazardly, and instinctively reaches to see if he can hold on to the surface by the sink. (He can't.) He looks back to Blaine expectedly, and blinks slowly. He takes the bottle of Jack Daniels Blaine was sipping from just a minute ago and throws it against the window. It shatters both the bottle and the window, the spout of the bottle soaring into the backyard.

Blaine throws himself to the floor in fear, covering his head from any glass residue that may come back to haunt him. He swallows and stands quickly, brushing himself off mockingly. He raises an eyebrow at his dad. _Nice going, father of the year._

"I was actually out in the woods behind the high school. Smoking weed, cigarettes, shooting the shit. This man I'm pursuing met up with me there. I think I'll make him my boyfriend. He's so hot, Dad. This really sexy feminine-looking queen that lets me ride him whenever I damn well please. He's like, years and years and _years_ older than I am, I think he might be older than Cooper, actually." He ponders and pauses for the effect and drama of it all. "He's experienced and I'm not, not as much as he is, Dad… and oh my God, he's really teaching me how to…"

Blaine trails off, raising an eyebrow, daring his father to have a reaction. This might have been too much, and Kurt is most definitely not his boyfriend but that's exactly who he had in mind when he was describing his imaginary partner to his father in vivid detail. His cock twitches in protest.

His father slaps him across the cheek.

"What the fuck, Dad? You usually hit me after you've finished the whole bottle!"

Blaine holds his cheek dramatically but he's smiling, happy, making fun of the fact that Christian actually thought that could have hurt Blaine at all. His father wobbles closer to tower over Blaine, and his hands are locked to his sides in fists. Blaine doesn't lose eye contact, taunting his father to hit him. He's never stood up to him in this capacity. Apparently, Blaine is feeling especially brave today. He thinks he's high off of the conversation he had with Kurt.

"If you're going to hit me, just do it already. It's not my fault you can't come to terms with people who aren't you enjoying sex regardless of dick or vagina. Or if Mom brainwashed you enough to make you think that. Shouldn't that be my choice, who I'm gonna fuck? Oh wait, it is my choice, because it doesn't concern you! At all."

"I wish you were never born, faggot." The fire in Christian's eyes is red hot. He grips Blaine's shoulders to the point of indentation, and shoves him back toward the foyer. His body is lined up perfectly with the door to the basement, that was previously not closed tightly enough to catch in the lock, and Blaine falls backward down the stairs.

He is thinking in slow motion, the rear of his head bouncing off every fourth step or so. He is doing back flips until he crashes into the cement foundation of the basement at the bottom of the staircase, and then springs off into a pile of bins that contain old clothing and Christmas decorations. He is stilled and lies there with no thoughts whatsoever but to keep on breathing and stay alive and don't move until it stops throbbing.

Christian slowly approaches each stair as if it's going to jump up and bite him. He clenches to the walls on both sides, sliding his hands downward with each movement of his foot in an effort to not trip, and follows his disappointment of a son's whimpers. Well, he definitely didn't mean to send the faggot ass flying down the stairs, but whatever's meant to be is to be. When he finally descends, rolling his ankle on the second-to-last step and stumbling down to the basement level, Blaine's father gets down on one knee and hovers over him. Blaine appears awake, eyes open but not blinking, with his face in a neutral position. His pupils are moving, eyes shifting back and forth, maybe to gain perspective or location information.

Blaine tries to stay still, in an effort to not cause any further damage. Always taking care of himself.

"Blaine?" His voice is nearly worried.

Blaine groans in reply and lifts his head only an inch before laying it back down on the cold floor, a whine of sure pain escaping out of his mouth. _Oh shit, that hurts._

At the confirmation that he hasn't killed anyone today, Christian stands, kicks the boy only once in the ribs, throws a loogie in his son's general direction, and disappears back to the higher floor above them. He might as well leave Blaine there to bleed out on the concrete floor.

* * *

**Santana: Did you get what I asked for?**

Kurt: No, Santana. It's kind of hard to get a seventeen-year-old's phone number. How do you even suggest me going about this without looking like the old creepster Craigslist type?  
**Santana: Give him free coffee and offer to take him out!**  
Kurt: I haven't even seen him in five days. And no. He's seventeen.

_Lies. So many lies._

**Santana: I wish I never told you that.**  
Kurt: Me too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Time has stopped. It feels like days since the _altercation_. Blaine hasn't moved in hours, scared to know what he'll find when he examines his body. He knows there are bruises on his ribs, judging by his short and careful breathing. He identifies that his head is throbbing, in an excruciating pain that's so beyond a headache. He believes that there could be a gash somewhere in the back of his scalp, because he's lying in what feels to be a puddle of water. Blaine knows better; he's a smart kid. He knows the dampness at the nape of his neck is blood, if the warmth of the liquid is any indication.

He's gaping at the popcorn ceiling, listening intently to the movement upstairs. When the noise above is nothing but silence, Blaine lifts his head in a fluid, lazy motion and raises his hand to the impacted section. Peeling away from his head, sticky and thick, Blaine's fingers come into focus with a red smear. His nose can't ignore the intense smell of iron and he can officially confirm it is _blood_. He knows that head injuries are generally not to be fucked around with, so Blaine finds himself in the middle of a minute panic attack. He is chanting to himself not to move too much, _don't freak out_, in case the ribs are close to cracking in half or puncturing a lung. He feels more alone than he's ever been after a situation like this, with no one to call and nowhere to go. Nowhere safe. He needs to take care of himself, yet again.

His bends his body at his waist to sit up on the concrete floor, ignoring every glimmer of pain, and tries to determine his bearings. He blinks swiftly, and shifts all of his weight onto the balls of his palms to lift himself up and onto his feet. His ribs are contracting uncontrollably and he winces in true discomfort with every step toward the staircase. He's up, trembling, and he steadies himself by grasping the banister as a lifeline. Every bend of the knee and flex of the ankle simply _hurts_, but he carries on, knowing the only way out is to go upstairs. He needs to just get the hell away from this house and from his father. He takes his keys and slips his Toms on. His eye catches at the crumpled change in the key bowl, presumably from when his mother got home however many hours ago. _What time is it? What day is it? What the fuck is happening?_

_Kurt. Kurt will save me._

Blaine remembers he didn't spend any money today; Kurt gave him his usual meals on the house at the Lima Bean. He steals his mother's change and stuffs it into his pocket, feels around for the crisp twenty he had from before, and pulls out his phone. He has enough to splurge on a cab.

He leans against the back of his mother's pearly white Escalade until the taxi arrives ten minutes later. He struggles to climb into the back seat, tells the driver an address, and disappears into the setting sun, blending with pinks and purples into the soon-to-be night sky.

* * *

Kurt is exhausted. Today was an especially busy day at the coffee shop and everything, _everything_, was empty when they closed. Julie, Austin, and Kurt even spent an extra hour ensuring the stock was full for the sake of the dreaded opening shift at five AM, and Kurt is finally retreating to his bed after the longest day at work in the history of his return to Lima.

When he's supposed to be doing other things, like restocking fake sugar packets and sleeves that keep his faithful customers from burning their hands on paper cups, Kurt spends a lot of time thinking about fate. He thinks back to when Rachel forced him to become part owner of the Lima Bean, and then again when she gifted him the rest of the establishment. She was adamant that he help her out with this, because he was the only one that she trusted to keep the business flowing. Then it became clear that she was stubborn in his sole proprietorship, because this was a good move for him, a good distraction from everything that seemed to fall through his fingertips in his life. Despite his frequent pushback, Rachel signed over the Lima Bean, saying that everything happens for a reason.

Kurt has been waiting five years for that very reason. For a while, he was convinced that Rachel's ulterior motive was to keep him away from her in Los Angeles; their relationship was one of sincere competition when it came to nearly _everything_, and it was less than easy to live together. He figured that she kept re-signing leases throughout college because it was better than living with a stranger. Maybe she forced him back into Lima, knowing he would never not come back after the Eddie debacle, because she wanted to be better than him in some way. It's proven fact, at least in Kurt's mind, that those who come home to their hometowns are quitters and failures. Especially when he had so much potential.

That couldn't have been the reason. Regardless of how competitive and selfish Rachel always was, she was also supportive of every single dream and if New York was still his dream after she moved away and after Eddie, then Rachel would have supported Kurt every step of the way.

Maybe the reason was to be closer to his father before he got sick again, which was an inevitability because he just couldn't stop him from eating french fries, try as he might. That reason was a strong contender; Rachel and Burt always seemed to be in cahoots about something Kurt-related, but usually something like pooling their money together for a ridiculously expensive Alexander McQueen outfit.

Maybe this reason had nothing to do with Rachel's or Burt's planning, though. Maybe it was as simple as true love, as simple as fate. Maybe it was something as simple as _friendship_, as truly being there for someone who needs him. There could be someone who needs Kurt's help in getting back on their feet, or getting away from the life they know. Maybe the reason why Kurt owned the Lima Bean instead of running freely through the streets of New York without a care in the world… was Blaine.

Kurt is thinking about Blaine in an asymmetric way to the rest of his life. Admittedly, Blaine is taking up way too much space in Kurt's head, but maybe it's okay with him being the _reason _he's back in Lima at all. Kurt hasn't had experience with the bruised and broken type, he always was the one in need from others. He feels like it's about time to give back. He wants to be someone else's – _Blaine's_ – saving grace the way Finn was for Kurt in high school. He can do it for Blaine because he had the world's best teacher in his brother, and he's excited to work on the proposition.

* * *

Kurt is still so tired, his eyes fluttering shut with every formation of mental reevaluation. He peels himself out of his blanket anyway. It is the absolute opposite of grace that he exudes when he sits at his desk and snaps his laptop open and slams the keyboard until the screen comes to life. He opens a blank word document and stares at the blinking cursor. His eyes roll while he inserts a blank table, changes the landscape, and formats it to be rows of different shades of purple. In the first column, he types PROS. He hits the "tab" key and types CONS. This is the beginning of his trusty list when it comes to pursuing Blaine Anderson, as a friend or something more.

Forty-five minutes pass, and he's got an appealing list, with far too many "pros" and not enough "cons". He saves it as "Blaine" on his Desktop and shuts the laptop before hoisting himself into the wrap of his blanket. He'll sleep on it.

He doesn't sleep.

* * *

The only fucking place he could have possibly gone is fucking closed. It's dark inside the building, and if that wasn't an indication that he wasn't allowed inside, then the adorable sign in girly handwriting hanging on the door sure is.

"Closed."

Blaine attempts to open the door again, to no avail, and punches the brick next to the glass. It hurts, but he doesn't care at all.

He slides down the wall carefully and sobs in a way he hasn't, maybe ever.

* * *

_Kurt must have drifted off; you have to be asleep to dream. He's part of a wedding. It's white and black and burgundy and burnt orange and gold and brown. October wedding. Central Park. Pumpkin centerpieces with Gerbera Daisies overflowing out of the stem. There is Kurt. And there is… Blaine._

"Oh my God." Kurt bends quickly at the waist and flicks on the bedside lamp. His breathing is weirdly calm and serene. He sighs and inches to the kitchen to get water or tea or warm milk. One always dreams about the person he's thought of last.

The kitchen's only window is cracked for the sake of circulation, and Kurt hears a faint sob on the street. He arches over the sink and strains his neck to look out and down to the sidewalk but can make out nothing. There is a sniffle and a groan, and Kurt knows someone downstairs is in need of someone else's assistance. Kurt hurries now; he fixes a quick glass of water from the faucet and slams it, throwing the cup into the sink and rushing back to his bedroom to get a shirt on. He shoves his arms through the sleeves of the first tee shirt he can find and snags the key off of the hook next to the door. He jumps down the one flight of stairs and barrels out of the building.

Kurt points his ear to the sound and follows the whimpering out to the other side of the door to the Lima Bean. There's a shadow of a hunched-over figure, and Kurt kneels down, trying not to startle him.

"Hey… are you okay?"

Blaine lifts his head and wipes his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his wrist.

Kurt's eyes explode out of their sockets when he realizes that he knows this crying, hurt boy. Well, he sort of knows him. He's a customer; he's just a customer. It's Blaine.

"Blaine! Oh my God! What happened to you? Holy shit, you're bleeding!" It's like someone slammed into Kurt's panic button. He's looking at Blaine's bloody face with condolences, like Blaine's not even breathing anymore.

Blaine rolls his eyes a little, before realizing how badly his head hurts. "Get away from me, pretty boy." His voice breaks mid-sentence and he looks up to Kurt then away quickly. He hugs himself tighter and drops his chin to fall to his chest. Now that he's here, physically in front of Kurt although it's all he wanted the entire way over, Blaine is ashamed that Kurt is forced to see him like this. He's embarrassed, knowing that Kurt is only going to put two and two together and it's too late to deny the details. Blaine grunts at the reaction of Kurt's inevitable enlightenment, allowing only one tear to fall before he wipes it away.

Kurt's still there, kneeled down with a hand situated over Blaine's forearm. Is it support, for comfort? Blaine's not sure – it's not working. "Leave me the fuck alone." He doesn't have the fight in him; it's easier for the walls to be folded into the corner.

Blaine thinks back to when he was in the fourth grade, when his elementary school went through some construction during the regular school year. They transferred his class out into a trailer in the parking lot where classes remained through the winter. It was overcrowded with the two classes that had to fit in there. The principal and the janitor interrupted one morning while he was reading _Matilda_ and installed a folding partitioned wall between his class and the other. It sectioned the two classes off, enabling the trailer to feel like only theirs. The interesting part about these walls, though: they were temporary, folded up in any way the teachers wanted them to. They would sometimes fold them halfway if it was a recess and snowing so the kids in both classes could interact. They sometimes folded them three quarters of the way, or one quarter, and sometimes they kept them open. The walls could come down partially or entirely. They were completely variable.

The walls protecting Blaine's heart and mind are pressure-built partitioned walls that he could only pray were temporary. Felt-covered and flexible, Blaine's walls are pressured between a rock and a hard place, and although they are not currently flexible in any way he could fathom, they might break down and become brittle shreds of dust. Some day. Eventually. Not today.

"Please go, Kurt. I'm fine, I just-"

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. Not after I've seen you. Come upstairs and let me help you."

Kurt grasps around the bicep that's closest to him and pulls Blaine up to his feet. He's unsteady and leaning against the brick wall, wincing, moaning at the pain endured by the simplest of movements. Kurt allows the boy to lean on his side, slipping an arm around his waist for additional security.

"Think you could make it up a flight of stairs?"

Blaine is suffering and shakes his head faintly. "Kurt, please don't make me… do this. I can't-"

"What hurts? I need to call the cops."

"No! Please, no, no, no. Please, I'll go wherever you're taking me, just don't call them, okay?" He straightens up as much as possible as if that's going to mask how he really feels. "Kurt, I'll do anything. Just don't." He holds onto the older man's wrists and looks earnestly into his eyes.

Kurt responds with a faster, more encouraging nod and all but carries him to the conspicuous door to the left of the coffee shop's entrance, and allows the boy to lean every last pound of his body weight onto his shoulder as he unlocks the door with one turn of the wrist.

Blaine's attempt to catch his breath is devastating. With every step, he winces vocally and curses a creative slew of words.

"Okay, honey. Shhh. Almost there."

Climbing stairs, and walking upright in general, is certainly a challenging feat with bruised ribs and an apparent head injury. After literally eternity, Kurt is shifting Blaine's limp and exhausted body again to throw the second door open. Blaine groans when Kurt's hand meets the tenderness that is his right lower rib bone, and drops his head again, clutching the doorway as support.

"Okay… you're okay… I'm so sorry…" Kurt kicks the door open and gets rid of the key before fully focusing on dragging Blaine inside completely. He deposits the whimpering boy slowly on the couch and runs to get a large bath towel from the hallway closet that would protect his couch from the blood. He eases it behind Blaine's head, and runs to the bathroom for first aid supplies. Kurt works on autopilot, and Blaine stares into space, patiently awaiting his return.

Kurt returns promptly to stand in front of the bruised and battered boy, with a pouch held tightly under his armpit and his phone in his hand.

"Blaine. I need to call the paramedics, okay? You are bleeding from your head and I'm actually really, really scared." Kurt's eyes are wide, focused on only Blaine, and crystal clear. They're almost transparent up against the milky brightness of his eyeballs.

Blaine flashes an undeniable fear, as he looks to the door and back up to Kurt.

"No cops." Blaine looks to the floor and ducks his head to rest his chin on his chest. "Please, Kurt. No cops."

Kurt sighs and kneels down so that they are eye level, "No cops, honey. Only medics, somebody who can clean that nasty gash the right way so that there's no infection or complications later."

"No. They always send a cop. Kurt, I'll go back. They'll lock me up again. Then when I get out, he'll kill me. He said so himself, Kurt. He will kill me." Inexplicitly, Blaine is a little boy again. He's allowed himself to go back to the world, if only for a second, that he was constantly running away from. This was the world of ring pop weddings and folding, temporary walls. This was the world he'll never see again.

"What if you need stitches? What if I can't clean this properly, Blaine? They are not going to hurt you, I'll make sure-"

"I can't go to the hospital." Blaine's eyes turn cold. Kurt decides to drop it; this is a battle he shouldn't pick. Not now.

"Okay." Kurt searches for a feeling desperately in Blaine's eyes, but there's nothing behind them. "I'll try my best, then." He sighs, "This might sting, okay?"

The peroxide feels like it's being poured into Blaine's brain, and ironing out each and every wrinkle of knowledge he's ever possessed. Blaine passes out.

Kurt calls Carole immediately. Resting his cell phone between his ear and shoulder, he frantically follows the sought-out directions delivered by his stepmother, the head nurse in the ER at Lima Memorial. He declines her several offers to come over and take care of this mystery friend for him; he's not sure why Blaine didn't want to go to the hospital but he's pretty sure that having anyone here besides himself would only upset the boy more.

He doesn't need his patient to be conscious, apparently, to wrap his head in gauze and reposition his body until he seems the most comfortable for the sake of his ribs, and somehow, Kurt remains calm though his mind is on fire. His eyes rake down Blaine's body in an effort to find any other bruises through his ripped clothing. He fetches a blanket and a pillow and situates Blaine, hoping his new position is a bit more comfortable than leaning against the bricks of his building's outside wall. He runs to his room and finds a pair of sweats, and his least fashionable blue-checkered button-down shirt. He'll force Blaine to change into this _seriously hideous_ outfit when he wakes, draping the borrowed items over the arm of the couch closest to the boy's feet. He leaves three Advil and a tall glass of water on the coffee table in front of the couch, and curls up on the loveseat facing the boy, staring at him for what feels like hours, punching himself awake each time he feels the slip. He needs to watch Blaine and make sure he's okay. And alive.

Three hours pass. At some point, Kurt finds his cell phone, previously thrown on the floor after he hung up with Carole, and summons an unsuspecting teenage employee to come and cover him at the Lima Bean starting bright and early.

* * *

Suddenly, it's five-forty in the morning, and Kurt needs to go downstairs and open up. He leaves a note for Blaine to find should he wake, and changes quickly to rush downstairs. He meets Julie, allows her to get situated, and double checks to see that she has his cell phone number in case of an emergency. He fibs about taking paperwork upstairs into his apartment, which wouldn't be out of the ordinary, in theory, and there's no reason to lie about it.

He brews the first pot of coffee and when it's finished pours himself two cups, grabs a few croissants, and goes through the mixing motions at the condiment station. As he creates the perfect shade of brown in both cups, he pointedly ignores Julie's raise of an eyebrow. Picking up the necessary breakfast supplies for both himself and Blaine, he pushes the door open with his elbow to venture back to his apartment.

* * *

Blaine's _everything_ hurts. His eyes flutter open uncontrollably and his eyeballs shift, trying to figure out where he is. He honestly has no idea, but there's no beeping machines or handcuffs so that's a good sign. His hand finds the gauze wrapped around the back of his head in a circle around his forehead. Blaine bends to get up off the couch and wails in pain. He thinks that this time his ribs could be broken. There's an open and close of a door somewhere down what could be a hallway. There's a drop of a set of keys and a muttered swear word. _Fuck._

_Kurt_ comes into view, unaware that he is awake. He sets two cups of coffee and a bag of what is seemingly breakfast pastries on the table in front of Blaine's still-horizontal body and sighs. He glances to Blaine's face and jumps back slightly, straightening up when he realizes he's being watched.

"Blaine." Kurt bows his head and focuses on his shoes. "Umm, how… how are you feeling?" He looks up, but too tall, and back down again. Those boots must be really interesting.

Blaine follows his line of sight to Kurt's feet. He coughs weakly, a bit out of breath, and winces at the pain of a rib bone that must be puncturing his esophagus or something. _Jesus fuck! That hurts._ "Like fucking rainbows and daisies. How do you think I fucking feel?"

Kurt frowns.

There's a swoop in his stomach; seeing Kurt's sadness does something terrible to the way Blaine feels. "Sorry." He apologizes because it's all he can do.

Kurt nods.

There's an awkward pause in the conversation and they both find the frays of the area rug below them fascinating.

Kurt is whispering now. "What happened?"

Blaine looks around the living room; he looks anywhere but at Kurt's shining blue eyes. He knows they are shining and blue and so pretty because he hasn't been able to get them out of his head, injured or not, for the past two months of his hell-forsaken life. Blaine's head is pounding, throbbing and caught on each syllable.

"Blaine. What happened?" Kurt repeats, speaking fully now. Kurt's studying his face and reaches to brush a curl away from the gauze. The contact sends a shiver down Blaine's spine, a jolt of energy for only his electrocution of emotion. They both look to opposite corners of the room, focusing on any inanimate object they can find.

Blaine decides to man up, if only for a second. He makes eye contact. "I tripped."

"Into a lion?"

Blaine stares at the bag with a Lima Bean logo stamped on it. It's an intricate logo, obviously designed by Kurt or someone he trusts immensely, with a unicorn and a cloud and elegant calligraphy to spell out the words. This is what distraction looks like. "Whatever, pretty boy. Leave me alone."

"Can't." Kurt springs up and paces on the outside of the table. He glances down at the breakfast patiently awaiting them and slowly handles a cup and reaches inside the bag to present a croissant and pushes both toward Blaine. "From downstairs." He crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen, quickly returning with a few napkins, and two small ceramic plates to house morning carbohydrates. "I want to help you, Blaine. This is twice that I've seen you brutally beaten up."

"You should see the other guy." This is a lie. Kurt knows this by the manic change in color of Blaine's eyes. They darken; they become less expressive. They almost look dead.

"Who's beating you up, Blaine?"

Blaine focuses on sipping the perfect concoction of milk, sugar, and delicious coffee that instantaneously became his favorite all those mornings ago at the Lima Bean. He sinks his teeth into the buttery croissant and lets out a small moan in response to just how delicious it still is, even after having one every weekday morning of his recent existence.

Kurt takes Blaine's mouthful of substance as a hint. "You don't have to tell me. If you ever need me though… please come find me. I… I can be here for you. I _am_ here for you." Kurt ends the conversation with a shrug and works on his own breakfast.

They eat in silence. It's strangely comfortable.

Kurt clears the garbage and empty plates; Blaine lets him.

Blaine tries to shift and winces at his ribs swirling around the cage unnaturally. He can almost feel them doing just that.

Kurt side eyes him as he enters the room again and sighs. "Do you think anything's broken?"

"Maybe one of my ribs. But it's fine. I can just wrap it when I get home. That's all they'd do at the hospital, and I can't…" _Go to the hospital because then they'd probably arrest me for going against whatever stupid probation rules I will never understand._ He loses his shirt nonchalantly and in one swift movement to minimize the pain. He examines the familiar purple splotching painted on his skin. He looks back to Kurt's direction and shrugs. "I'm fine."

"You usually use like, an ACE bandage?" Kurt's eyes flicker to Blaine's barely developed chest, then back to his face.

"Or whatever I can find, I guess?" Blaine shrugs with one shoulder and looks away again. He can't bear to feel the pity radiating out of Kurt's body.

Kurt bolts out of the room again, and rummages through the bathroom cabinets. Blaine hears a triumphant but distant "YES!" and Kurt slides back into the living room on his socks and topples onto the rug at the abrupt stop of hardwood floor. Stumbling back upright, he waves a brand new bandage at Blaine and starts to unravel it as he approaches him.

"I found four. I don't even… know why anyone would need… four. My stepmother is a nurse. Maybe she plants them here when she's over, just in case…"

Blaine laughs a little. It hurts. His foggy mind mildly recollects memories from last time, when he was alone and unhappy. Now, someone is there to take care of him.

Besides the constant pain behind his lungs, he almost feels like the old Blaine. Before he came out, before his father started taking his disappointments out on him. Blaine's not sure what it is about Kurt, but he is at ease around the older man. He's familiar, but a total stranger. Blaine can't put a finger on it, but it's something. There's a small, warm pull in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that this is what arousal feels like.

Kurt sits carefully, in an attempt to avoid shifting the cushions beneath Blaine. He's mostly squatting beside the couch, with one half of a cheek balancing on the edge for support. It feels natural for Blaine to wrap one of his arms around his neck as the man pulls him and bends him closer so he's leaning chest to chest rather than back to pillow. Blaine clenches his eyes closed at the seams and allows Kurt to manhandle him gently, breathing steadily with every wrap around. Kurt works himself up, wrapping diligently until he reaches Blaine's midsection. Blaine cries out in pain and leans his cheek onto Kurt's shoulder, the closest sturdy surface.

"Shhh. Almost done, okay?" Kurt really shouldn't expect an answer, but Blaine gives him the opportunity to be on the receiving end of a moan too painful to even listen to.

Each minute feels like sixty. Blaine can't get a handle on his inside bones shifting. He swiftly retreats his head from the points and curves and smiles, looking down shyly. "Sorry… God." He bites at his knuckle to trap another moan.

Blaine feels Kurt inhale, literally pushing away any spark that could have just captivated his mind, and fastens the last of the bandage wrap. There is a prominent pressure as Kurt plays with the edge of the material to tuck it into itself.

"Is that tight enough?"

"Perfect." Blaine says, "Thank you." He glances at the clothes laid out across the arm of the couch. "Can I borrow those?"

"Of course! That's what they're there for, silly."

Blaine tries to sit straight as Kurt helps maneuver the boy's arms into a checkered button-down colored shirt. He lifts his ass off the couch when Kurt pulls off his pair of pants, then again when he replaces them with his own sweatpants. They never drop each other's eye contact. Kurt is rubbing Blaine's arm, exuding comfort patiently, and it all seems rather domestic. Blaine can't shake the feeling that this might be where he belongs. He's been looking for this forever.

"That outfit is ridiculous." Kurt giggles and takes him in, small as a little puppy curled up on the couch, with the most terrible outfit Kurt had ever put together for himself or someone else. "But I thought you wouldn't want to lift your arms too high, or button your body into jeans. This is what you get."

"Thank you." Blaine looks up at him and allows the corners of his mouth to ascend only a little. "Seriously. No one's ever helped me the way you are now. I mean-" He sputters; new Blaine is not supposed to be gracious. "I just mean, thanks."

Kurt smiles. He shifts lightly and takes Blaine's calves in his hands, sliding downward until his right hand gets caught on the obstruction of the ankle monitor on Blaine's left ankle. A blush quickly reaches all four of their ears.

"Sorry." Kurt says. "Sensitive subject?" When there is no answer, Kurt guides the feet to the floor and directs Blaine's body to sit upright. Kurt slips in to sit beside him, but not touching.

"Are you up for the day? You can stay here for as long as you'd like."

"Thanks." Blaine says it again; there's nothing better to say. He shifts deeper into the cushion of the couch as Kurt approaches his movie case without another word.

The boys settle on a movie; Kurt insists they watch _Moulin Rouge_. Blaine has never seen it, and although he'd never tell an over-excited Kurt this, he never really understood why everyone was obsessed with it. It's only about seven thirty in the morning, and he's not sure if he can handle weird covers of songs that had not even been recorded at the time the movie was supposed to take place. He obliges anyway, just wanting to be close and without any serious thought.

* * *

Blaine remains very still; even the slightest of movements could put him into a terrible spiral of excruciating pain and despair. His mind drifts.

"Hey, Kurt?" Satine is coughing blood into a handkerchief _again_, and Blaine has officially stopped paying attention.

"Mmmm?" Kurt's entranced in the movie; he is in love with _Moulin Rouge_. Apparently, "Come What May" is going to be his wedding song someday.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the Lima Bean?"

"The best part about owning a coffee shop is the fact that you can hire employees to do your work for you. I don't have to be there every day." He turns his head to look at Blaine, injured and small.

"Do you miss me on the weekends, pretty boy?"

Blaine's not sure why he doesn't hang out with Kurt at the Lima Bean seven days a week. In the beginning of the summer, it seemed like too much and too soon. He found other spots within his four-mile radius that suited his needs just fine. It turns out he _was_ cheating on Kurt with Starbucks, after all. Sometimes, he'll venture to the library or the park when it's nice out. Other times, he locks himself away in his room for weekends at a time when he knew his parents' schedule included lots of errands and running around. It's been tricky on the weekends; his parents don't have a set schedule as they do for work during the week, so it's a crap shoot as to what type of environment Blaine is walking into every single time he gets home. He'd rather not get beaten three times on a Saturday, so sometimes he just stays in, locked away with Netflix and a book.

Kurt shoots him a bitchy face and rolls his eyes. At the unspoken understanding that he isn't going to admit anything to Blaine, the boy probes.

"Why are you, then? Why are you there every day?"

Kurt looks over to him then, and meets his eyes for five seconds before looking back to the television.

"I think you know why."

* * *

Kurt and Blaine spend the rest of the morning warming up to each other at a tortoise's pace, with Kurt slowly inching his way closer until noon when they are touching thigh-to-thigh. At one point, Blaine crosses the contraption-clad ankle over and across Kurt's, and neither of them seem to mind. They stay intertwined for most of the day as they steal glances when the other isn't looking, suspiciously unaware that each of the other has peripheral vision, which they both make sure to use with each sneaky look. There is an obvious attraction on both ends, but no actions to _ever_ be made.

Blaine stares intently at his hands folded in his lap. He holds his own fingertips in his opposite hand and tries to imagine his left hand as Kurt's. He is willing to bet anything he owns that he'll be holding Kurt's hand regularly before he is released from his probation. This becomes his goal.

They finish _Moulin Rouge_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ and some other movie Kurt wants to watch and suddenly it's three o'clock in the afternoon. Blaine has snacked on a pretzel, popcorn, and M&M mixture a very tired looking Kurt supplied for him all day, so he's not terribly hungry, but he does need to get home before his parents beat him to it. He plants his feet heavier on the ground and slowly inches to stand up straight. His pain-induced frown is forcing creases into the sides of his mouth, and he wobbles a bit until he's steady.

"I've gotta get going."

Kurt checks the time on the cable box. "Seriously, where do you go every day at three!" He stands. "You're a mystery, Blaine Anderson." Kurt leads the way back to the front door. "You… you could stay, if it's home… if your problems lie at home, I mean."

Blaine shrugs in response. "Home is fine, okay?" If he's a mystery, then the act is working. He still makes a mental note to try harder not to let Kurt in, as much as he wishes he could just drop the damn act.

"Okay. At least let me drive you there?" Kurt's eyes linger on Blaine's mouth, like he's only looking at lips.

Blaine locks eyes with the older man and subconsciously licks his lips. His newly darkened eyes flicker to Kurt's mouth and he wants to lean in and take Kurt for all he's worth. He doesn't.

"I can't let you do that."

Kurt shrugs. He doesn't think at all. He just does.

The older man licks his lips and leans in. Cornering Blaine up against the wall that meets the door, he covers his mouth gently over Blaine's, with hardly any pressure so as not to hurt him in a shift backwards and slamming into the wall, and stills. He opens his eyes and makes contact with shocked and widely golden sparkling eyes with pulsing pupils looking back at him. He closes his baby blues again and opens his mouth slightly as an invite for Blaine's tongue, but not before he nibbles on the boy's bottom lip. He shifts his head to tilt the other way, and folds one wrist over the opposite around the back of Blaine's neck. He drops his jaw farther and Blaine understands enough to sweep his tongue into Kurt's mouth and they lick at and taste each other like life depends on it. Kurt moves his hands delicately to Blaine's hips, hooks his fingers at the curves, and pulls him in a bit closer to deepen the long-awaited exchange. Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt's neck and grinds into the man's hips only once. Now it's his turn to tilt his head, ignoring the annoying throbbing pressure in his brain and chest. Blaine loosens the kiss only enough to catch Kurt's lip, and bites down seductively, pulling Kurt's lip away from his teeth. The saliva is helping with the glide, and their tongues are igniting what could only be described as a slow-motion porn-flutter.

Kurt steps back and touches his pointer and middle finger pads to his lips like he's thinking, but he's just feeling; he's soaking it all in, still with his eyes closed tightly.

Blaine glances at him and takes him in.

Kurt blinks his eyes awake and smiles only enough to lead Blaine on.

Blaine wants to jump and dance around to like, Britney fucking Spears; he wants to grin and force him even closer, but can only connect his eyes to his shoes.

"Uhh, did I have anything with me last night?"

"No. Your old clothes are ripped and bloody. I sort of already threw them out." Kurt goes to the hook by the door and waves Blaine's keys at him.

He nods at Kurt. Kurt opens the door for him, pressing the set of keys into his hands.

"See you tomorrow, pretty boy." He steps out into the hallway.

"Is that a promise?" Kurt folds his arms and leans on the frame of the door, just a hint of a smile on his lips.

Blaine nods. "And thank you." He grins back at him, and makes his way slowly downstairs, out of the door, and away.

Kurt stares at the nothingness that's left in his line of vision. He allows himself to squeal, just once, before closing his door and sliding down until he's hugging his knees and shaking out of pure joy. He shakes himself out of it, and gathers himself to head downstairs to the coffee shop and help out with whatever afternoon rush that may be happening. He is seemingly distracted, only thinking of Blaine, and returns to his apartment after getting in his teenage employees' way on more than one occasion. He whispers to the nothing in front of him.

"You're welcome."

* * *

Before he blinks, Kurt is on his father's doorstep, bottle of white wine in his hands. Carole is very much a creature of habit, at least since the accident, and rotates the type of meat in a particular order – fish, chicken, beef. She likes to experiment with all sorts of awesome recipes, in theory, and so Kurt makes it a point to experience the different wines of the world and he brings a new bottle every time. This hasn't changed since he's returned home.

After Kurt moved back to Lima all those years ago, Friday night dinners were happily reinstated into Kurt's life. The Hummel-Hudsons never skipped, under any circumstance, especially ever since Kurt's stepbrother passed away in a car accident. Finn had always been a good kid, did well in school, and was generally happy. After a lot of trials and tribulations, trying to figure out what to do with his life, he traveled and came back home to Ohio. Enrolled in the University of Ohio, Finn kept his new college habits of going out drinking rather secretive. He swerved right off of an overpass by the school and never returned to Friday night dinner again.

Carole has set the table every Friday since to include Finn's spot. Burt and Kurt have never said anything; they know it's been hard on her to first lose her first husband – Finn's father, Christopher – then Finn himself. Kurt knows, having lost his mother. The place setting is not awkward; it's actually quite comforting. Kurt feels as though when he comes over and tells his parents news, he's telling Finn as well. They were a family, and a family they will remain.

His father opens the door with a wide grin on his face. They haven't seen each other all week, and for only living fifteen minutes away, Kurt is ashamed. He tries to make time to visit more often, but with the _Blaine_ distraction… well, family time hasn't been high on the priority list these past few weeks.

"Hey, kiddo." Burt half hugs his son and lets him inside.

"Hey, Dad!" Letting his father crush him in the only way he's used to, he steps back and grins at him. "What's up?"

"Oh you know… dinner at the Hudmels."

Kurt smiles again. He's glowing. "Hudmels is never going to work, Dad. Dinner at the Hudmels, though." He shakes his head fondly at his father and steps further into the foyer.

Burt looks at him, studying him with all the brainpower he has. Kurt's hair is coiffed like it used to be. (Lately, Kurt's been uncharacteristically letting it dry naturally after the shower and hardly using any styling products, at least for Friday night dinners.) His eyes are large, full of wonder and joy. His clothes are put together to resemble years ago when he cared a little bit more. What has made Burt's son so God damned happy?

"Have anything to tell me?" Burt questions, pointedly.

Carole enters the living room, wiping her hands on her apron-covered thighs.

"Hi, sweetie."

"Hi, Mom!" He wraps his stepmom in a big bear hug, twirls and dips her before kissing her cheek and releasing her. He practically skips to the kitchen and starts stirring a sauce that's on the stove. His parents exchange a confused look and follow him to watch him cook, everyone catching up on the last week.

Dinner is ready, a delicious grilled tilapia with creamy white wine Alfredo sauce, vegetables, and Caesar salad. Kurt serves his family food, skipping over Finn's plate, and puts the extra in a combined serving platter on the counter behind them. He sits, gracefully folding a napkin over his lap, and pours himself a glass of wine. He casts a gaze at his parents, who are both staring at him in a happy surprise.

"You're usually a lot… less chipper. At least you have been since New York." _Since Finn._

"Oh, Carole. We can't be sad forever." He takes her hand with both of his and squeezes. She lends him a sad smile.

There is silence.

"I met someone." He confesses.

She jumps out of her chair, "There it is! Oh, Kurt! Tell us all about him!"

Burt watches the exchange, although it's safe to say he's less than impressed.

"Umm, I can't."

One pin plummets to the floor. The family collectively hears it with no disruption.

"I mean, we kissed. But he's, he's kind of messed up, I'm not really sure what I want from him yet."

There is indefinite push back from the parental units, but Kurt promises that he will tell them the whole story when the time is right. He flawlessly uses the "I just don't want to jinx it" excuse so hopefully, they will respectfully change subjects and get on with the visit. Not all conversations go on as planned. His father continues to ask him twenty questions about this new mystery man.

"It's all too new. I want to make sure it could work first before I tell you details." This might be a lie, Kurt's not sure. He needs to figure out what it would take for him to date a seventeen-year-old boy, assuming that's what Blaine wants.

Kurt continues, sort of thinking out loud at this point. He realizes now that his parents probably would have dropped the subject, but now he's on a roll and needs advice. "I mean, I haven't smiled really at all. Since Finn died. He had my back, always, and when he left me here all alone, no one else was ever good enough to take his place. I've been waiting for someone to care about me like Finn did, but maybe a bit more deeper than that, and I think this boy could be up to the job if I let him. Hopefully on an entirely different level, but the same kind of support? I just don't know if I'm ready." Kurt really has no idea what he's saying.

Burt and Carole are staring at him, eyes misty and faces sad.

"Stop! It's been _years_, and I know it's not easier but it's become… bearable."

It scares Kurt how he never breaks a sweat when he seems to have omitted the truth that comes with Blaine. He promptly picks himself up, though. There are just certain things that parents would never understand. Kurt's complete infatuation with a boy born in the nineties who happens to be on probation being at the top of that list.

* * *

Dinner was perfect. Dessert was… well, _Carole tries_. They are lounging on the couch with _Criminal Minds_ in the background. Kurt's phone buzzes and the text message is from Santana.

Santana's quickly become one of the few constants in Kurt's life again. She is an unbiased (for the most part) ally. Theirs was always the most unconventional friendship, but that could have been why it was one of his most comfortable. If the stars had aligned right, they would have never been close, but here they are and here they stayed, as close as they were in high school without any complaint. They sometimes analyze other people, places, and things that have nothing to do with Blaine Anderson, but not often. Santana is disappointed in Kurt for not getting closer to her boy and isn't afraid to offer her judgment in the matter. It's for the good of the kid on probation, anyway.

**Santana: Why wouldn't you want to make my life easier, Hummel?**  
_Kurt: Because I don't care if your life is easier, Lopez. J_  
**Santana: Seriously lady lips, what is it about him that's untouchable?**  
_Kurt: He's not._  
**Santana: He's not?**  
_Kurt: He's not untouchable. He's… sweet. He's just going through some shit, I guess._  
**Santana: YOU'VE SEEN HIM?**  
_Kurt: What? No._  
**Santana: You've seen him! Lima Bean?**  
**Santana: Kurt, where was he?**  
**Santana: Kurt.**  
**Santana: Lady Hummel! Where the fuck did you see him?**  
**Santana: Fucking shit, Kurt. You are making me look bad at work! **  
**Santana: If you know details about where he can be, you need to tell me. He's fucking up, Hummel. They'll throw him in juvie again.**

Santana knows him too well. She knows that the only way to Kurt's heart is via the ways he could possibly help someone. She knows that as soon as she threatens the wellbeing of someone he so clearly cares about, she will get the information she needs.

She glances at her phone as it starts to come to life, vibration hard and strong.

"Hummel. Where's Blaine?" Santana is on her last fucking nerve at this point; she hates being bad at her job. Any job, Ohio or not.

"Will they really send him to juvie again if you can't find him?"

"Yeah. He's already missed three meetings with me and he's supposed to be enrolled in school. I can't cover for him anymore." She sighs.

"He's taking his GED test soon, I think."

"Getting a GED isn't going to school, Kurt. It's not the same thing." There's sincere panic in her voice. Kurt can't determine if it's for Blaine's wellbeing or for her job, though.

"I'll tell him to call you, okay?"

"Are you friends with him?"

"Don't look for him at the coffee shop. He doesn't come in anymore. He'll call you, okay?"

"You are protecting the little shit from me! This is what you always fucking do, Hummel! What the fuck?"

"I'll tell him to call you."

"Humm—"

The line goes dead. Santana curses in Spanish and lunges her phone into her headboard.

* * *

It's been a good day for Kurt Hummel. There was a boy and there was a kiss. There was a lovely dinner with the two people he loves the most. There were absolutely no tears, and there was a conversation with his friend even if he did hang up on her. He's calling this progress.

Then, there's a text.

It comes through as Kurt is reversing out of his father's driveway, thinking of how quickly he could get home and go to sleep. Five AM comes quickly.

**_Unknown Number: Goodnight, pretty boy._**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Kurt finds himself standing in the middle of the coffee shop, among all of his regular customers coming and going, tapping his foot impatiently and burning fiery holes into the clock on the wall farthest from his eyes. He squints to follow the second hand with each click, patting his thigh with his open palm in its rhythm. He's been frozen in suspense _for-fucking-ever_, eagerly waiting for the arrival of the gorgeous maple eyes and the swirls of coarse, shiny hair and it's only 8:01 in the morning.

He has been awake for the better part of the morning at this point, composing more pros and less cons to file away in the "Blaine" document he created on his computer. Even though he got to bed late, he woke early to find his favorite skinny jeans, and his tight-as-sin black button-down shirt. Using the rest of his excess timing to actually blow-dry and style his hair into a towering, elegant coif, Kurt looks presentable for the first time in a long while. He's made the effort, he has spiffed himself up, and now he has to wait a damn hour. Fifty-nine minutes, and Kurt Hummel is nothing if not impatient, at least when it comes to Blaine's presence.

Kurt is on an emotional roller coaster ride with Blaine, swirling into a guilt-ridden existence for even wanting to take advantage of the boy, and for having done so through the kiss. He has known to stay away, especially after learning about the probation and the ankle monitor and the fact that the boy is _seventeen_, but he finds that he can't resist wanting, knowing that Blaine is in need of help.

He dominates the register as a form of useful distraction. It's religiously the busiest hour of the day, so Kurt works diligently until exactly 8:48, forcing himself to keep his glance off the clock overhead. He shies away, excusing himself then, to head to the back room and give himself a several-minute pep talk so he doesn't lose control when Blaine prances through the door before he knows it. He has feelings for Blaine, but the hardest part is going to be to push them aside when he sees him again in person.

* * *

Blaine wakes with a start; it's exactly 8:01. He shifts slowly and carefully to lie on his back, and recollects his memories from yesterday. His body still hurts, but he's prepared for the pain, and he needs to figure out how to minimize this bandage wrapped around his head. He doesn't have time to shower if he wants to get to the Lima Bean right on schedule to see _Kurt_.

Blaine plays and replays the kiss over and over again in his head, overanalyzing every shift and tilt and lick and taste. He's not sure how incredible it was for Kurt, but he knows that it was something he didn't want to ever be without. There's no way he could ever forget it.

He is still wearing Kurt's borrowed clothes. He sits up and admires the outfit. Laughing lightly, he finds himself bending too quickly at the waist and subsequently causing a jolt of excruciating pain, a fire stirring through his veins until he can't possibly see straight. He stills with a palm to his stomach and his eyes clamped shut, shocks running through every muscle.

When the fire turns to smoke, he undresses carefully, cursing the existence of his father all the while.

He plants the bottom of his feet on the floor and shuffles to the bathroom, examining himself carefully. He's totally naked except for the loose ACE bandage and gauze Kurt helped him with yesterday. He twists and writhes in pain to wrap it tighter, but quickly gives up in fear of passing out with no one close to find him for dead.

In the two months that Blaine and Kurt have now known each other, it seems like Kurt's always there to fix him, even if it's without anyone else knowing. He throws on some black basketball shorts and a skintight tee of the same color that clearly shows off his arms, with sleeves stopping mid-bicep. He is somewhat pleased with how his arms look, and realizes in that moment that he chose his shirt because Kurt will probably approve. He listens to see if he's safe to sneak away without his parents noticing, and descends down the stairs and away as quickly as possible when the coast is clear.

As he walks slowly toward his only plausible destination, he breathes in the warm air and basks in the sunlight against his face. He pauses frequently, as he follows the familiar path, to lean against a building or sit on the bench in the park where he met Santana Lopez the first time. It's taking a hell of a lot of energy to get to the Lima Bean (_to get to Kurt_) this morning. He curses his father not for the last time in his life; he knows at least this much for sure.

* * *

8:57! Kurt scrambles to pop a croissant in the oven to warm, then skips across the floor to pour a Medium Drip, and forms the perfect concoction of milk and sugar. He brings the cup back to the oven, setting it down to the side in its entire perfection just as the oven begins to beep. He glances at the clock.

9:01. He plates the pastry, and delivers it to the empty Carrie Table before rushing to the condiment table for a hefty supply of napkins. He sets the table neatly and heads back behind the counter. He waits. He taps his foot to the beat of the second hand and waits. Most of the morning rush has come and gone, so Kurt can spare bending over the counter top, resting his chin on his hand, and his elbow on the surface below. He is blatantly staring at the ribbon of bells hanging on the door until they jingle exactly four minutes later. Kurt makes no effort to move a muscle, except his mouth is transformed into a splitting grin, and his eyes are looking directly into the depths of Blaine's soul.

Blaine smiles, _really smiles_, at Kurt and heads to his table. As if the boy could smile any bigger, the grin appears when he sees his breakfast already prepared and displayed and _waiting_ for his arrival. He turns to lock eyes again with the older man, nodding with gratitude. Kurt responds by shrugging one shoulder and then scurrying to the back. Seconds later, he returns with a new sleeve of medium-sized cups.

Blaine approaches a spot along the counter that he assumes Kurt would most likely be lured to at his re-arrival. Blaine is waiting for Kurt.

"Hi." Blaine leans up against the corner of the countertop, his seductive eyes and body language sensing that he's trying to attract Kurt to be lured closer. As he speaks, he's blatantly staring at the too-tight pants and gazes up his body until he lands and stares at his lips. "Hey, come talk to me." The sentence escapes as a demand.

"I'm working, Blaine." Kurt pulls the broom off the hook on the wall and sweeps aimlessly, concentrating way too diligently on dust bunnies that simply do not exist.

"You said yourself just yesterday that you didn't really have to be here." Blaine raises an eyebrow as a challenge. Kurt does not respond. "You pay little teenagers eight bucks an hour to do that." He nods to the broom, "Come on, Kurt. I wanna talk to you."

Kurt looks at him, stilling the broom he was pushing. God, he loves how Blaine says his name. Out of Blaine's mouth, it sounds like a prayer, like he's begging with every breath, like it's the only word he knows how to say. Seconds trail by and Kurt sighs. He tries to resist, but he can't help himself, leaning the cleaning device against the wall.

Despite all of Kurt's best judgment, he feels himself gravitating to this beautiful boy standing expectedly, now with his arms folded in a mockery of being pissed off right in front of him.

_Fuck._

He throws the apron over his head and onto the floor below the hook it belongs on before coming out from behind the counter and standing in front of a waiting Blaine. Kurt crosses his arms to mimic Blaine's stance, tilts his head, and smiles.

"Hi."

"Pretty boy." Blaine draws out each letter of the greeting and flashes his eyes directly to his mouth inches away; they are magnetic toward each other. "Thanks for breakfast." He grins.

They hold steady for a few seconds before he turns to head back to the table and stops after three steps to look back at Kurt, who's frozen to the tile, currently staring, unfocused, at the small of Blaine's back.

He pictures what the skin looks like under Blaine's clothing, as it curves into the plump of his ass, currently painted purple, with angry bruises that must be fully formed by now. Kurt snaps out of it, literally shakes himself to cut the image loose as best he can. He follows Blaine's footsteps across the shop to the Carrie Table.

Blaine sits back down as soon as he's back to his habitual chair and squints his eyes shut as his bottom hits the wood with his jaw hanging open.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Blaine nods, mumbling the words that come next. "I'll be fine, just like I am every single other time." He takes a small sip of his coffee and lifts his eyes to look at him with his mouth still attached to the cup.

"Ah, so this_ is_ related to the day we met. Want to talk about it?"

Blaine focuses on ripping his croissant into pieces; he fully concentrates on his breakfast. He makes it a point to say nothing.

"I got your text. I must have missed that time I so delicately offered you my phone number." Changing subjects is Kurt's super power.

"That's weird. I must have missed your response." Blaine looks back up and smiles again, with a mouth full of buttery carbs.

"Touché." Kurt's smile is shy but inviting, "But really, how did you get my number?"

"I may have shamelessly stolen your phone when you went to find those bandages." Blaine smirks and raises an eyebrow. He looks breathtakingly pulchritudinous, despite the matted hair on the side of his head from dried blood, and terrible posture. Kurt's breath catches. He should avoid these types of interactions with Blaine as much as he can. Instead, he's drawn to them. His brows fury, almost connecting in the center out of frustration and want of things he can't have.

"Sorry. I can delete it?" Blaine reaches for his phone.

Kurt shakes his head no immediately; he is disagreeing with every fiber of his being that Blaine should delete his phone number, but also disagreeing with the fact that he's allowing Blaine to keep it. "Keep the number, I guess. Use it whenever you need to, but know that we can only be friends."

"Whatever, pretty boy. I'll have you under me in no time." Despite the vocabulary, the boy looks defeated, small, confused.

Kurt exhales. "You're seventeen and I'm twenty-eight. That… kiss shouldn't have happened. It can't happen."

_"Kurt_."

"I know. We just… just, it's too much."

Blaine's eyes bore into Kurt's soul, trying to prove the point that age is just a number.

"Blaine. _Please_."

"What happened to you being there when I need you next? Where do I go the next time my father tries to beat the gay right out of me?" Blaine hisses in a hurry. Kurt's sure that Blaine regretted every word as it spewed out of his mouth, but because Kurt is so tuned into the detail of Blaine Anderson, he naturally catches everything Blaine never meant to say.

"Oh, _honey." _Suddenly, so many mysteries are being solved and Blaine finally makes sense to Kurt, at least a little. He searches his eyes for anything deeper than the surface, but Blaine shies away, seemingly figuring out precisely what he's trying to do. "You come to me. Always."

"That's enough with the pity." Blaine pops the last piece of the croissant in his mouth and raises an eyebrow. "I have a lot of work to do… so…" He trails off and opens a textbook, genuinely _trying to_ ignore Kurt's presence, only a table separating them. He's actually very much aware of the man's presence, and Kurt knows that he's trying to distance himself, especially after such an unintentional confession.

"Oh! Right. Well, let me know if you need anything else okay?" Kurt stands. Blaine nods, not making eye contact.

"And Blaine?" The boy lifts his head.

"I don't pity you, but I am still here for you. We're _friends_. Promise." Kurt turns away and strolls into the employees' area and begins helping Julie with the small queue at the counter.

* * *

Kurt tiptoes around Blaine for the next several hours, and Blaine makes it a point to appear especially interested in whatever it is that he's reading. All he knows is that he hasn't turned a page in a solid ten minutes, so he swiftly takes a chunk of random pages and flips, settling into the act of pretending to read again, and forcing himself to shift to play the part.

Eleven comes and goes, and the coffee shop is dead, except Kurt, Julie (who is perpetually in her own universe to some extent), and Blaine.

Blaine wants to have some fun; he needs to tease Kurt and confirm that he does something to Kurt, regardless of whether or not Kurt owns up to it. It'll be easy. He slams the textbook he's hardly touched down and pushes it off to the corner. He raises his body slowly but surely, eyes locked on Kurt. His eyes flicker to see if there are any more pieces of fruit. _Success_.

Julie is busy grinding more coffee beans into grains for the expected afternoon rush, so there's an inexplicit hum coming from the corner of the employees' area behind the counter.

Blaine snatches a banana from the basket in front of Kurt. "How much, pretty boy?"

"Just take it."

"I'm not your charity case."

"No, but I offer a special discount for boys who have just been beaten up by homophobic assholes who are supposed to love them unconditionally." Kurt raises an eyebrow to challenge a response. When he only receives a glare in return, Kurt continues. "Besides, I'll never sell it now. It's going to be mushy and brown in less than an hour."

"So, I'm just your garbage disposal." Blaine laughs with no humor and turns on his heel, simultaneously peeling back to release the banana from its cocoon. He's watched enough porn to make this work, maybe. Blaine sits in the chair, with his ass hanging off the edge of the seat and his back arched. He holds the banana within his two palms, curling all of his fingers around the piece of fruit and intertwining, and steadying both elbows on the table in front of him. He searches for Kurt's eyes, and when he finds them, he knows it's show time. The sparkle in the center of Kurt's eyeball is glowing and watching Blaine like prey, as if he can accurately predict Blaine's next action. It's really not that hard to guess.

Blaine flicks the end of the piece of fruit twice with his tongue, all without losing eye contact. The man sputters, nearly choking on absolutely nothing at all, and looks around to find Julie. She has her back to them, guiding hundreds of espresso beans into the grinding machine, swaying to a rhythm she must have made up in her head. Kurt looks back to Blaine, growls to himself, and continues to squirm. Things like this should only happen when they're alone.

_No. This shouldn't happen at all._

Blaine smiles around the banana and lets it slip further into his mouth so it's halfway down his throat. He hollows his cheeks and hums loud enough for Kurt to hear, and Kurt shifts his legs awkwardly. Their eyes don't leave each other's as Blaine takes a chance and swallows all but three inches of the lengthy and rather thick and rather edible practicing tool. The banana isn't as flexible as the real deal would be as it slides down his throat, and Kurt can see a glimmer in Blaine's eyes when he realizes it cracks instead of flexing and turning down his throat. When Blaine pulls it back out, he examines it and bites it with power. He never loses Kurt's eye.

Kurt is blinking profusely and rushes to the back room. _Success._

At Kurt's departure, Blaine shoves the rest of the banana into his mouth and swallows it in one movement. He shrugs to himself, knowing that was a bit ridiculous, but judging by Kurt's reaction, well… he's obviously hooked. It's now a confirmed fact that Blaine does something physical to Kurt's body, and it's okay to further pursue. Blaine allows his mind to arrive back at yesterday, to the kiss that _Kurt_ initiated. It wasn't Blaine's first kiss, but it might as well have been, because it was the first one with electricity, tingling from his lips and through his body, down his spine, and straight to his cock. His erection welcomes him, thinking about it yet again. He _needs_ to be taken by Kurt right over that countertop.

Blaine keeps his eyes on the doorway that Kurt disappeared through only minutes ago. He has to show himself again; he's got to. After what feels like hours of watching, Julie turns toward the doorway to the employees' back room, laughing at something her boss must have said, and stops abruptly when she remembers that Blaine is still there, in front of her. She smiles timidly and continues with her mid-morning chores she saves until the shop is empty. Although super innocent, and somewhat annoying, Blaine realizes that she could maybe be his friend. Or at least, someone he's nice to without wanting to kill himself. Her giggle and perky ways are pretty annoying though, so maybe not.

* * *

Kurt needs to get his damn act together. His cock is as hard as cement, and he's shifting in his chair for the sake of any friction he can get, all to the thought of a seventeen-year-old blowing a fucking banana. He's aware that Julie and Blaine are only a few feet away from him at this point, but he needs the release so badly. After getting the glorious visual of what Blaine's lips would look like taking his cock in his mouth, Kurt could only imagine what the sensation would be as he feels the uncontrollable twitch between his legs. Kurt knows already that Blaine's tongue is demanding and heavy against his own. He can only assume what magic it would bring to his cock.

Without warning, Julie is behind him, rummaging through a box of clean rags, and supplying herself with more coffee cup covers. He jumps a foot and is yanked out of his teenage dream.

"Sorry, boss! Did I scare you?"

"Oh, Jules." He breathes, hand flying to his heart. He's anxious only at the fact that he almost got caught rutting his dick against his desk drawer. The young girl doesn't seem to have put two and two together. _Cute, adorable, innocent Julie._

Julie giggles and scurries out of the back room, smiling timidly at Blaine.

* * *

Kurt rushes out to the front with a clipboard in his hands and glasses perched on the top of his nose. A pencil is held horizontally between his teeth, and he's making it dance by shifting his jaw up and down. The boy's eyes flutter to Julie who's staring out the window, bored out of her mind. Two college-aged students enter with their backpacks and their iPhones attached to their thumbs, and Julie perks up to take their orders. Kurt ignores Blaine.

Blaine digs his nails purposely into the healing cut on his head and whimpers in pain. He needs time alone with Kurt, especially while the others occupying the store are distracted. He stands and approaches Kurt, hovering beside and behind him just a bit to the left. Kurt has a sixth sense only involving the presence of Blaine so he turns around naturally and expectedly. The two are magnets; batteries that only light the room when they are touching together at the right angle. They are collectively a positive and a negative coming together to form energy. Blaine is cupping the open wound with his hand and tilting it toward the ceiling so he doesn't drip on the floor of a food establishment.

"Do you have a bandage? I'm umm… bleeding again." Blaine winces, as the cut is open again. Apparently, head injuries bleed heavier than a cut on, say, his arm. Maybe this was a stupid idea to get Kurt's attention.

"Oh! Oh, Blaine! Come to the…" Kurt blushes and grabs his forearm, brushing his thumb across it in an effort to sooth him, and rushes him to the back room, slamming him more harshly than intended into Kurt's office chair. Blaine whimpers again.

"Sorry! Jesus shit, sorry!" Kurt's a bit flustered, but he's in his element because he gets to help. In a whirl, he has more gauze in his hands and is applying pressure with another clean rag against his skull. Kurt's leaning his elbows on Blaine's upper thighs, and he's kneeling down in front of him between the boy's legs.

"No gauze. It makes me look like Frankenstein. Do you have a big Band-Aid?"

"Hold this." Kurt taps his pointer on the rag lightly and leans harder on Blaine's thighs to support his weight as he shifts into an upright position. The gazelle-lioness hybrid coasts across the room to the First Aid kit and turns it inside out looking for a suitable bandage. More determined than ever, he finally finds something that will do and sails back in and between Blaine's legs, digging his elbows into Blaine's thighs in the same fashion as seconds before.

Blaine's breath catches and he feels the tickle of butterflies rushing together within his abdomen.

Kurt waves the Band-Aid in Blaine's face like a Polaroid picture or like he's cooling it off, and settles into concentration to peel the backing apart from the adhesive. He removes the rag, dabs the infected area with the dry gauze, applies some ointment onto the cut itself from a single-use packet, and presses the bandage against his hair.

"I cannot be held responsible if this doesn't stick to your curls." Kurt teases, with a smile so bright and encouraging, it may be capable of curing Africa's hunger and forcing world peace upon the Middle East.

Blaine keeps his eyes locked on the man's lips as they move with each word.

Kurt shrugs and presses at it again for good measure. "You're adorable. Even if your head wound appears to be a little gross." Kurt allows the words to escape and Blaine can almost immediately see the shock on his face following thereafter. He pauses, closes his eyes for a few seconds, then continues. He pats the boy's thighs and rests his hands on them for a fraction of time. The pace is slowed, and he instantly feels the unmistakable bond. Blaine blinks easily once, failing to open his eyes on the second movement. His bottom lip quivers out of his control, and he leans in. Kurt follows his lead for a flash before pushing up on the boy's legs to regain balance on his feet, squeezing at his left shoulder lightly, and literally gliding out of the room, and back into the store front of the Lima Bean, whispering something to Julie, then leaving out of the front door.

Blaine lets his lungs deflate and he falls back in the chair with a huff.

* * *

Blaine is so fucking confused and he's frustrated that Kurt is playing so hard to get. At last, he finds someone who he has an unexplainable bond with, someone who is rigorously pulling him toward his very soul, and one meaningless fucking detail is tearing the two apart. Blaine doesn't give half a shit how old Kurt is; he feels certain that they need each other in this moment.

Blaine's impression of love is limited; he's never legitimately understood how it all worked. He always figured his older brother liked him enough to entertain him for a few hours at a time, but accepted the fact that it wasn't true love when Cooper bailed on him and moved out to Los Angeles for the sake of his own dreams so many years ago. He, still to this day though, can say without expectation that his parents, his own mother and his own father, do not love him one bit.

He's seen the movies; he's read the novels. He knows he's not crazy for knowing that admiration he so desires is out there and he just hasn't found it yet. When he does, he's going to hold on to it for as long as he possibly can. Come to think about it, he'd love to love Kurt. He thinks he can, if the other party involved would just allow it.

He's holding back. Can he afford to have someone intertwined in his life that acts as a confidant? Would he be forced to tell Kurt everything about home and his parents and the unfortunate events in his life, just because that's part of having a boyfriend? Why does it need a label? Is it fair to Kurt to keep him at an arm's length, at least emotionally? He's not sure, but he'll wait with baited breath if he's even got a chance at even one night with Kurt.

* * *

Kurt sprints to his single bathroom situated directly over the back room of the Lima Bean, where he thinks Blaine must still be sitting. He looks down at his feet as though he would be able to see through the tile, piping, ceiling to the top of Blaine's beautifully curled and semi-split open head. He sighs, strips, turns on the shower as cold as it goes, and lets the water race through his veins until he can't stand it.

Kurt's been in love before – always one sided - but it's never flipped his whole world upside down like Blaine's been doing since the two met, not in this capacity ever before. He doesn't think he could call it love, not yet. The smallest flutter of Blaine's eyelashes has Kurt nearly moaning his name, and it's just not fair. Kurt needs to get his head together. He also needs to stop thinking with his other head.

Something inside has changed; he feels like he's been promptly brought back to life, even though he's the furthest he's ever been from New York – the creative capitol of the world. Kurt actually believes that it's kind of _okay_ that he's back home in Lima. Ohio's not a bad place to live, per se. It's just boring, and Kurt does not enjoy boring. Sure, he's previously been known to purposely stand out in a crowd. He hates blending in. This is, however, where his life has taken him, and he's slowly allowing himself to believe that he wound up back in Lima only to find his future lover, Blaine Anderson.

Kurt opens another Word document and types vigorously with meaning. He lets a creative stream run freely for the first time in a very long while.

_Inevitability is a funny thing. Life can spit you out and you would never return the favor because that's just not who you are. Your final decision to not return favors, or not kiss back, or not pay that boy the time of day may have not been what you were all about. But… somewhere down the line, on the path of life, it may not even matter what decisions you make or if they were wrong or right, although these same decisions may have seemed so urgent in the moment. Sometimes, it's inevitable, whatever or wherever or to whomever life may take you, regardless of how you try to control it._

* * *

It's 3:05. Kurt didn't return, so Blaine departed the coffee shop a few minutes ago, and he has started on his venture home. "Breathe," by Angels and Airwaves is blasting through his headphones. An unknown number suddenly interrupts his song, and he stares at the vibrating phone in his hand. Only Kurt has this number. Maybe he's calling from the landline at the Lima Bean.

"Umm, hello?"

"Blaine?"

It's a woman with an oddly familiar voice. Blaine knows he's heard it before but can't place it.

"Who's this?"

"The parole officer you've been dodging for weeks."

"Oh." _Busted_.

"Are you gonna hang up?"

"You used to live with Kurt, right?"

"Yeah… why?"

"I just left the Lima Bean. I guess I could go back if you want to meet up." Blaine decides right then and there that he will try. He'll try, for Kurt.

"Yeah, sure. Give me ten minutes." She hangs up.

He stares at his phone for a few seconds and second-guesses his decision. He calls Santana back immediately. When she doesn't answer, he accepts his fate that he'll probably get beaten again when he returns home well after his parents.

* * *

It's 3:15 by the time he's ready to vacate his freezing shower, meaning it's safe to return to the Lima Bean. Kurt's sudden separation from Blaine is discounted. He's feeling strangely empty and disconnected from the rest of the world. He has the obscene taste of vomit in his throat.

He assumes that Blaine isn't there without even looking for him; he's memorized the schedule. What Kurt doesn't know, though, is that Santana and Blaine are there, and gathered around one of the tables outside.

Santana pulls the door open suddenly, rushing inside to find napkins.

"Hey Hummel." She smiles. "Blaine just spit coffee out of his nose."

"He's here? It's late."

Santana grabs the napkins and looks back at him. "I think you're a psychopath if you think three-thirty in the afternoon is late. Either come join us or leave us alone."

Kurt can't help but confirm in his mind that the reason why Blaine leaves the coffee shop at a very specific time is to avoid his parents that must make it home after he's safe and sound.

The bile that escapes when he's in the midst of an anxiety attack is pouring to his throat. Rushing from the front door to the bathroom in the employees-only area, he slams into the toilet bowl just in time and empties all of what he can. He sits back and dials a familiar number.

"Hey kiddo."

"Dad. I need your advice."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Songs used in this chapter:**

**Ryan Cabrera - It's You**  
**Dashboard Confessional - Again I Go Unnoticed**  
**Hanson - A Minute Without You**

_Author's Note: Surprise! My reasoning is this: there's a big chapter coming up that I want to post by itself and I had to change the schedule a little bit in order for that to happen. The next update comes Thursday, then Sunday. Then, I'm breaking for Christmas! Come talk to me on Tumblr? /becausehiships. Enjoy!_

* * *

The baby grand piano in the first-floor sitting room is more of a conversation piece than anything, especially recently. Ivory contrasts with black and the gold lining around the edges are pristine and newly retouched. It's lonely but perfectly tuned religiously three times a year. Some may argue that was excessive, that a Steinway only really requires it every six months. His mother is obsessive with her "investments," his father pays the bill.

The bench is covered with black crushed velvet, the pedals are metallic gold, and the cover is left ajar as a bragging right to the perfectly tuned and clean inside. It is a work of art, an instrument to showcase wealth, appreciation for the arts, and class.

Nobody ever sits in the sitting room. Blaine's annoyed that they even have a sitting room, and a set of home offices for both parents, and a fucking library. Who needs a personal library when there's one right on Main Street in Lima? The piano, however, is definitely his favorite object in the house.

It is a statement piece that has been in the corner since Blaine could remember, opposite the large and overbearing gold harp that no one ever touched. He used to rehearse all the time on the piano for himself and can recall times when he would put on concerts for his mother before she was such an ungrateful, undeserving of his love or appreciation bitch, before he came out to his parents at fourteen. As much as he is comfortable in his own skin and simply does not give a fuck what others may think of him, Blaine sometimes wishes he could go back to Easy Street, when he knew that at least a few people were on his side.

His parents have finally left on their excursion. They are currently cruising the Mediterranean for the week, with a layover in Barcelona on the way home, because why not? Cooper and his girlfriend were invited but declined when Cooper noticed that Blaine was never even offered a spot on the plane or the ship. Blaine doesn't mind in the slightest; he has eleven days of bliss doing whatever the fuck he wants, and absolutely no way of getting the shit beat out of him. In retrospect, Blaine Anderson is having a pretty good week.

He sits down and shifts on the bench to play a chord, shyly touching his fingers against the ivory and black, for the first time in nearly a year. It feels good, like this is where he's supposed to be. He figures that the feeling only counts if it's examined that he's sitting at a baby grand piano, not necessarily within his shitty family's house, with a ball and chain on his ankle for the next however the fuck long. He stops the aimless practice of random chords and brushes his left hand the wrong way against the velvet; he wants to make sure he can still feel the irritation it brings; he wants to make sure he can still feel at all. He shivers; there's something about velvet laid the wrong way against his skin.

He raises his hands back to the keys and plays a melody that's always stuck with him, but for the first time in his life he understands why. He starts to sing.

_I'm standing before you with this label on my head_  
_I'm pleading before you for you to understand_  
_How much I adore you_  
_I'll be there til the end_

_When everything falls down_  
_Will you hold my hand?_

_Baby, it's you_  
_When I look up in the sky, I see you_  
_Then I turn and close my eyes and it's you_  
_When I'm sitting all alone in my room_  
_Everything reminds me of you_

He stops abruptly to wipe at the moisture from his eyes. He's not sure where all of this sensitivity is coming from, but he needs to strengthen himself. No one can see him like this. They can't think he's gone soft. It's a good thing he's alone. He's alone in a world of monsters, and it's only here, in the empty and spacious sitting room, that Blaine can really allow his strings to unravel, even if it's only for a few minutes. It's only here that he can be true to his feelings on the inside, and work to show them on the outside.

There are very few things he wouldn't sacrifice to give in and genuinely cry. For just one minute, he wants to abandon the constant performance of hard-ass and just cry. He is yearning to put his trust in _Kurt_ and empty all of his baggage directly onto his lap, hardly even packed properly, just thrown haphazardly into the suitcase. Kurt would probably want to rearrange and refold anyway.

He wants to rely on someone; he wants to know that whatever problem or abnormality is going on this person wouldn't leave him. He doesn't want to be ignored anymore. He wants all of the above with Kurt.

He can't comprehend why Kurt continues to resist his body, his ability to maybe even love. Blaine's never been in love before; he doesn't know how it feels. He hopes that it's close to the way he feels for Kurt.

He thinks that maybe Kurt could be the love of his life, if he'd just let him.

His forehead comes toppling down onto the piano keys. He is desperate for Kurt to be honest with him. The agonizing feeling of _what if he doesn't want me like I want him_ rips through his heart at every waking moment. He knows there must be some level of mutual attraction; he knows that he swears they can't continue not because of the age difference, but because of the fact that Blaine isn't legal. He curses 1995 with every vein in his body. Why couldn't it have been 1993? The difference of twenty-four months seems like not a big deal at all, but it's the biggest deal of all. _Fuck_.

Blaine feels obsessed… bewitched… _tormented_ every time he stares at Kurt's wide eyes staring back into his. They're always, without fail, as clear as the water in St. Tropez, and he loved the hooded, dark look that he felt in his bones right before the kiss. He loved the doe-eyed appearance the baby blues demonstrated when he went down on the banana. He loved the look of fear and lust that was shining through at exactly the same time every time Kurt has looked at him in the past.

He is convinced this is love, if only within Kurt's eyes. The luscious, strawberry-flavored lips that moved with his own, inviting him to drink him all in. Blaine was wasted on Kurt's kiss, and still can't shake the hangover. Every part of Kurt is stunning, and Blaine doesn't want to shake him; he can't think of going on without him. Not now that he's had his taste.

Something snaps in Blaine. All of the resistance and pretending that he doesn't need anyone for months, for years, has burst alongside his tear ducts. Of course he wants Kurt as his boyfriend_. Of course_ he needs someone beside him to just be.

He lifts his head and changes his soundtrack. He has a knack for turning anything, regardless of the pace, into a flawless piano ballad.

He hits record on his iPhone and proceeds.

_I'll wait until tomorrow_  
_Maybe you'll feel better then_  
_Maybe we'll be better then_  
_So what's another day_  
_When I can't bear these nights of thoughts_  
_Of going on without you_  
_This mood of yours is temporary_  
_It seems worth the wait_  
_To see your smile again_

_Out of the corner of my eye_

**_Blaine: ~Video Attachment~_**

xK&Bx

Kurt watches the video from Blaine three times before he deems it totally inappropriate to be grinning, curled up in the fetal position on his bed like he's in damn high school again. He _graduated_ from high school ten years ago. Which was when Blaine was entering middle school, or something.

His apartment is eerily silent, aside from Blaine's serenade coming out of his iPhone's speaker. He hits play for the fourth time, throws the phone on his bed, and sways into the home office to grab his laptop. The music is somewhat muffled, but he can still hear the words clearly. Blaine's song continues, even after he comes back to his room. He plops down Indian style at the foot of the bed, and presses random keys to bring the screen to life. He clicks on his "BLAINE" file, and types.

_Artsy, singer, piano, emotional._

_God. I've got it real bad._

He slams the computer down, hits stop on his phone, and puts the closest pair of shoes on. The phone call earlier in the week was cryptic and Burt won't leave him alone about how mysterious Kurt has been. He owes him an explanation. He starts to drive. His phone is buzzing the whole wayo Burt's house.

* * *

**_Blaine: Do you like it? _**

**_Blaine: I think it explains a lot about what I'm feeling._**

**_Blaine: Pretty boy._**

**_Blaine: I'm home alone. Come over?_**

**_Blaine: Sorry, nevermind… just fucking ignore that. I really shouldn't have sent that over. Sorry. _**

_Kurt: At my dad's. See you at the Bean in the morning. J_

* * *

There's a lot of screaming, too much yelling. Kurt feels like a seventeen-year-old himself, not just infatuated with one. Burt's role in Kurt's life, since day one, has always been to protect, to be honest, and to support. He's got it almost right for this conversation. He's protecting, he's honest, but he is doing whatever it is to be the complete opposite of supportive.

"Kurt. Your abiding love for this seriously fucked up kid will be even deeper when you are an inmate and you see him once a fucking month during your fucking conjugal visits. You will engage in sexual intercourse with your seventeen-year-old lover in a 4x4 box with no windows. Do you want that, Kurt?" Burt's face is red hot and he's pacing in long strides across the kitchen. The neighborhood could hear the conversation, seemingly one-sided to them.

"Please don't say sexual intercourse."

Kurt's father calms and sits across from his son at the table and pats the top of his hand, "Kurt. This is really not a good idea at all."

"He'll be eighteen…"

"Listen, kid. I know that when it comes to love… and dating, you've really gotten the short end of the stick. There are far less options here than New York, and even in New York, you were dealt a bad hand. But that doesn't mean that you need to jump this boy just because…"

"Dad!" Kurt interrupts, "That is not what this is about! He and I… we're..." Kurt sighs. _We're magnetic, drawn to each other… it all sounds so obsessive, like I belong in a fucking straight jacket._ "We have this crazy connection I've never had with anyone. _Anyone_, Dad. He makes me feel connected, and like, safe even though he himself is not safe at all. I'm not sure I should be willing to give that up just because he wasn't born in a year that might be more ideal for me." This is the first time since knowing Blaine that he has admitted the fact that he wants Blaine as more than just an underaged regular customer. He shakes his head and pounds his fist into the table. "Dad, I'm scared."

Burt's eyebrows soften. "When will he be eighteen?"

"He's seventeen now… so… less than a year? Soon." Kurt looks up and Burt swears he is six-years-old again.

Burt sighs heavily, "Kurt." He brushes some hair out of his son's flustered face, "You don't know… what's his name?"

"Blaine." Kurt provides, with the slightest of smiles.

"Blaine. You don't know Blaine well enough to know his birthday, you don't know him well enough to figure out if you want to date him."

Kurt nods slightly. He does, though. He _really_ wants to date him.

"Try being friends with him first. But Kurt, for the record, I still don't think this is a good idea. I just can't support this, not yet."

"I know, Dad. Thank you for trying."

"I'm not-"

"Just thank you."

* * *

Blaine finds it strange to have the run of the house. He feels free. He is finally able to be himself without the pressure of being watched or judged. He dances, he plays music, he learns new songs. He finally fucking feels like him.

His phone is attached to him at all times, in case Kurt wants to text him more than the bland response to his over-admitting love song, as he dances through the kitchen to an old, pretty embarrassing Hanson song, all the while singing at the top of his lungs into a spatula.

_Cuz when the minutes seem like hours and the hours seem like days_  
_Then a week goes by you know it takes my breath away_  
_All the minutes in the world could never take your place_  
_There's one-thousand-four-hundred-forty hours in my day_

The volume of the top-of-the-line stereo system is superior to a party; the knock at the door goes unnoticed.

_I've been trying to call you all day, cuz I got so many things that I want to say_  
_I'm going crazy_  
_Cuz all my thoughts are filled with you_  
_There's got to be some way I can get through to you ohhhh_

He twirls and lets his falsetto die in his throat at the unexpected sight of Ms. Santana Lopez. His face flushes a deep maroon and he scurries to stop the music. He stalks back to the kitchen and channels whatever he can to appear unfazed by any feeling at all.

"This is what your people would call breaking and entering, Stiletto."

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

Blaine stares, jaw dropped just enough to constitute it as open.

"Look kid. I need you to just listen to me when I talk to you right now, so I can put it in that stupid file of yours that I've tried. The other day at the Lima Bean wasn't enough. We need to get an actual schedule together."

"You can really try, I'll really listen." Blaine opens the refrigerator and hands her a bottle of water, then sits at the kitchen table and eyes the chair across from him as an invitation. She accepts it and leans forward, seemingly bracing herself for what could be a very serious conversation. "Kurt says…"

"Are you and Hummel fucking?" Santana tilts her mouth into a sly smile as soon as the words flow. Blinking rapidly, she seems nervous.

"What's it to you?" Santana raises an eyebrow. Blaine always feels defeated around Santana Lopez, regardless of how amateur she looks herself sometimes, "No. We're… we're _friends_. I just go to the Lima Bean a lot."

"So I've heard. You just talk about him every time I talk to you." Sighing, she says, "When are you going to go back school?"

"He's our common denominator, Lopez. I feel comfortable talking about him to you because he is a mutual friend. And regarding school, fuck you, it's summer."

"Doesn't mean you can't register. Blaine, I _need you_ to try school again. Please. You need to understand that we will have no control over what they do to you and me if you don't go to school this year. Those guys back at the courthouse are heinous motherfuckers. They want to see kids like you fall and burn to the ground, do you know that?"

"Sure do. You wouldn't understand how much actually, Striptease."

"When we become friends, you better still call me that. It does something to a girl's ego."

"_We're not friends." _Blaine growls.

"When we become friends, Blaine. I swear you said you were going to listen?"

"Whatever."

"And you need to find a job."

"My job, Ms. Lopez, is to stay alive." There are pieces of his soul breaking with each word that escapes.

"What's going on with you? What are you running from?"

"I can't talk about it."

"Is your problem your parents?"

Just like that, Blaine's attitude is back. He can't believe he ever trusted Kurt and actually confided in him, as little as he did. It was out in the open and now everything is going to be shot to fucking hell.

"Whatever Kurt said to you is a fucking lie, capisce? I said I can't fucking talk about it." _Dad would kill me._

"He didn't breathe a word, Anderson. Just a lucky guess."

"No such thing. And if he didn't say anything, how the fuck did you get my number the other day? He's the only one that has it! Literally, like… the only person in the world."

"And also the public record when you opted out of the Blocked Number feature with Verizon, hot shot. Now, shut up."

"Whatever, Striptease." He sighs and continues, "You didn't just guess my daddy issues." Blaine is not convinced, not in the slightest. "Kurt had to have told you. He's the only one who knows. God dammit, I'm so fucking stupid!" _This is what happens when you trust. People let you down._

"I'm a juvenile parole officer. Before this, I worked in New York City, chasing after homeless kids who refused to stay at their group homes after being taken away for exactly what you're going through right now. You think I haven't seen it all? You have all the signs that you fucking hate your father, and he hates you right back. For being gay, huh? Do you want me to do something about it? You're over sixteen so it's not the law I report it, but I would do anything to see your asshole of a father get locked up for putting a hand on you." Santana takes a breath. Her face is red and she's flailing around the room. If she isn't passionate, Blaine's not sure he'll ever know what passionate is.

Santana looks at him and tilts her head. "I assure you, we talk about a lot of things, but Kurt and me do not talk about you, and it's not because I don't want to. I beg him every time."

"Oh, do you now?"

"Shut it, Anderson. We don't talk about you! He says he knows nothing. I know he's really fucking loyal and over-trusting, but I can't believe he'd lie to me for you. He's a really, really loyal friend to have." She says with a grin. It's obvious this is a delayed icebreaker.

"Oh yeah, cuz I'm not worth someone lying for," the sarcasm dripping from his scowl. "You know, fuck you. Get the fuck out of my house."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. You know what I see when I read your file, Blaine? I see a kid who's an absolute fucking genius, who can whip himself up and around any GED test, SAT test, whatever test without studying at all. I see a kid who's never had the love and support any teenager needs, but still fucking survived. So you're delaying this school thing because you want someone to push you back into a normal place where you can actually meet people and excel. Well here I am, your Fairy Striptease Godmother. I'll do it because they won't, because your parents have some skewed view of reality that you can't choose who you want to spend your life with. That you love boys, that you love boys the same way you're supposed to feel about girls. You're waiting for them to notice that you're doing something for yourself that could better your life and that you're doing it on your own. You want to rely on someone, and your stupid fucking parents are not interested because you'd rather date a boy than a girl. Who ever said heterosexuality is normal, and everything else is uncalled for and taboo, huh? But when we suggest that they should try being gay, it's offensive and being straight is what they are, it's in their bones. But it's different for us. And then, I know you're going through the whole conflict of whether or not you want to let Kurt in, because he's someone who would push you until he knew the whole story, and no one can know the whole history of Blaine Anderson, right? That's opening you up to all of the trust issues you've always had." Blaine stares back at her, freezing all of his subtle movements and with a faint glisten to his eyes. She continues because she knows she's hit a nerve.

"I'll bet you don't even recognize yourself at this point. You have this GPS attached to your ankle, and you've stolen shit, and you talk back to people in authority, and you feel like your parents would rather never see you again, and you can't even remember the path that got you here. Because you were at Dalton this time last year, on the fast track to Ivy League, and now you're just… lost." She stares at him. "Right?"

Blaine nods once, allowing a single tear to fall before he scurries to wipe at it. He can't have Santana notice.

Santana notices.

"As much as I hate the idea, Kurt's friendship is going to be good for you. You need to confide in him; you need to let him in, and you don't have to worry about him coming back to me, he doesn't break anyone's trust, ever. He's the exact type of person you need in your life. But I'll have you know that he is too trusting and yearning for anything that remotely looks like someone cares for him, especially after his brother died, so you take advantage of that and you join Finn up there with Fat Elvis. Kurt has me behind him always, and I have razors in my hair, do you understand that, lover boy?"

Blaine stares back at the crazy fucking bitch flailing her arms and pacing in his kitchen. _What the actual fuck is this girl on?_

"You know he's the one who helped me? I was even more lost than you, literally working at a lesbian's tourist trap, dancing on tables in my underwear in the West Village. I just came out to my grandmother, she totally disowned me, and so I ran and I knocked on his door a thousand miles later. He took me in and was there for me every step of the way. I was dealing with so much stupid shit, and I'd cry and cry. He never judged; he never told me to snap out of it, no matter how many times he needed to change his shirt from his stupid boney _Moulin Rouge_-loving shoulder being soaked by my tears. I'm only okay now, because he was there then." Blaine has allowed several drops of saline fall from his eyes, but wipes them just as quickly as before.

Blaine laughs at the reference to _Moulin Rouge_. "He made me watch _Moulin Rouge_ too. What the fuck kind of drugs do you need to understand that shit?"

"If I see Satine cough up blood one more time-"

Blaine lets out a heavy laugh, cracking a genuine grin across the planes of his face. "He seems pretty amazing."

"You know what your number one problem is, Blaine Anderson? You need to get the fuck away from these small town blues. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is here for people like us. At least, when we are seventeen. You want to go to college?"

Blaine shrugs. "Probably not. Not anymore."

"Well, first step is finishing your senior year. You won't go back to Dalton?"

Blaine shakes his head and looks into her eyes for the first time, well, ever.

"Why not?"

Blaine looks away. "It's- I don't belong there with them anymore."

"Say no more. High school sucks. I went to McKinley and it was almost bearable. Will you try it?"

Blaine shrugs.

"I'll be in touch, then. Answer your damn phone when I call."

Santana leans back, satisfied the answer wasn't "no." She wipes her own tears and disappears from the Anderson household as quickly as she tornadoed through.

* * *

"I broke some ground with your boy, today." Santana says in lieu of a greeting.

"Hi, Kurt, my friend. How are you? Such wonderful weather we're having, I haven't spoken to you in so many days even though I'm local again, I thought I'd give my amazing friend that always supports me in everything I do a call to see what's up and how he's been. So how are you, Kurt? Kurt? Kurt?" Kurt replies, sarcasm soiling the carpet below him.

Kurt's heart is palpitating; he's apprehensive to gain knowledge of what crude comment must have come out of Blaine's mouth this time. If Santana ever found out about the kiss… God. Both he and Santana know damn well that he covered every nervous ping with over-the-top sarcasm. If she catches on this time, though, there is no mention.

"Shut it, Hummel. He thought you snitched on him and his daddy issues."

"What? I haven't told a soul… _fuck_!"

Santana laughs, "Shut up, the kid has it written all over him. I didn't even have to work hard toward guessing that shit. Relax."

"What did he say?"

"Well what he didn't say was more important. He didn't blow the fucking lid when I suggested school might be a good idea. Not to mention, a requirement to keep him from getting locked up again."

"God."

"Yeah. So I planted the seed and you're going to water that shit and watch it grow into an adorable fairy-flavored daisy, okay?"

"What? Santana, I am not your accomplice. Only one of us gets paid to watch him." _But I don't want him in jail._

"Love you, sweet cheeks. I'll call back for a progress report tomorrow! Muah!" Santana hangs up to the obnoxious sound of an overexaggerated kiss.

_God fucking dammit, I hate that bitch. _

* * *

_Kurt: Heard you had a run-in with the witch of the west._

**_Blaine: Maybe, is the one from the west worse than the one from the east?_**  
_Kurt: Dropping a house validates evil, regardless of who's better or worse, B._

Blaine's new nickname is all he could have ever wanted to read at this very moment. He knows for a fact that his heart skips a beat.

_Kurt: She didn't say anything too obnoxious, did she?_  
**_Blaine: Wouldn't you like to know?_**  
_Kurt: Yes._  
**_Blaine: Goodnight, pretty boy._**  
**_Blaine: I called her 'Striptease.' Help me spread the nickname._**  
_Kurt: J It's fitting. _  
_Kurt: See you tomorrow. One croissant and Medium Drip, coming right up!  
__**Blaine: Switch it up. Surprise me.**_  
_Kurt: Done and done._  
**_Blaine: Thank you. Seriously._**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Songs used for this chapter:**  
**Toby Lightman | Everyday**

It's a beautiful day. The sun is bright and inviting; there are few clouds in the sky, if any. Blaine's stroll to the Lima Bean is noticeably relaxed and physically painless for the first time in a long time; he loves when his parents go away on vacation. He is content with how his summer seems to be playing out. He's actually okay.

The conversation with Santana opened his eyes a bit; he still believes in himself regardless of what's happened to him at home. Her persistence has helped him, whether he'd like to realize it or not, and he knows that Kurt's friendship – or whatever – will be good for him too, because Santana said so. He's putting so much trust into strangers lately, and for the first time since he was fourteen, it doesn't scare him. He's not sure what's going to happen next, but that's the best part of being seventeen. Maybe he finally doesn't mind because Santana and Kurt are telling him he doesn't have to worry about it yet.

He sort of doesn't _mind_ Lima with Kurt around, even if the mere opportunity to open up and be honest with someone else contradicts every wall he's built up since last year. He gets excited to see him, to talk with him. He loves watching Kurt in his element at the Lima Bean. He's full of passion, in spite of whatever he is doing. This always makes Blaine smile.

He pushes the door open eagerly and the heavenly scent of quality coffee beans grinding hits him as it does every morning he's there. He inhales calmly and searches for Kurt. The man is helping a customer decide between two signature blended coffee drinks, with the ease and professionalism of any extraordinary specimen. Blaine watches with heart eyes and lust swirling through his veins. Blaine Anderson is finally at ease and comfortable with his surroundings. Kurt looks up at the sound of the bells, and meets Blaine's hazel honey eyes for only a second, twitches his lips as a greeting, then turns his full attention back to the woman still standing in front of him.

* * *

Kurt glances at the door with the familiar sound of the bells. His instinct is to smile warmly at the boy, but he refrains. He is terrified that he looks forward to another's arrival, that he's allowed himself to fall this deeply already, so quickly. They've only known each other for three months, give or take a day. Kurt continues focusing on the non-important questions of his customer, and turns on the charm the best he can; this is an attempt to forget Blaine's eyes melting into every curve of his body. The woman turns with her large bag of a variety of ground coffee, and a decided-upon iced espresso for in the moment. Now is the appropriate time to focus his attention to Blaine's insistence to surprise him via video message last night.

He plates the freshest raspberry and cheese Danish, and waits patiently as the espresso machine does its magic for the sake of the White Mocha, light cream. He pours the concoction into the to-stay coffee mug and proceeds to design a work of art by way of foam. He draws an intricate design in the froth on the top and glides into the seat that's always been unmentioned but reserved for Kurt, across from Blaine's spot. He slides the plate and cup directly in front of the boy and stares at the Danish. Kurt usually knows his way to people's hearts through their stomachs. He just wants to let the boy down easy, as hard as it'll be for Kurt as well.

"Good Morning." Blaine is searching for contact, his eyeballs shifting to catch Kurt's.

Kurt examines his cuticles.

"Morning." Kurt gets up and pours himself a Medium Drip, leaves it black, and returns. He sinks into the chair without any trace of his usually perfect posture. This is when Blaine can certainly confirm there is something up.

"What's wrong?" Blaine takes note of the foam design and smiles into it as he steals a cautionary sip.

"I just… nothing." _Fuck, I wish he were older._ He meets his eyes for half of a second and draws away, burying his face into his own coffee.

"Nothing." Blaine repeats, but especially aware that this is a lie.

_"Nothing_."

Blaine shrugs, uninterested in furthering this conversation if it's only going to be a collection of two-syllable words that mean, well, nothing.

"How are you?"

"Really? How am I? That's all you've got?" Blaine's words escape angrier than he intended, but he goes with it because it can't hurt to continue with the bad boy vibe, although this is the furthest from who Blaine is. _Was_.

Kurt takes a deep breath, and exhales with a shake in his chest. His whimper is low and in his throat, but still there nonetheless. "Blaine."

The exchange is graceless; Kurt's definitely not acting like himself, and Blaine notices. His head shoots up; he has a foam mustache. Kurt smiles and wipes at his upper lip with his thumb and wipes it on a napkin, but eye contact is the furthest from the truth. It eerily feels like the closing and sad scene in a movie before one main character disappears forever.

"I thought we got through the awkward exchanges already, Kurt. Why is it always two steps forward, three steps back with you? I fucking can't."

Blaine turns his head away and focuses on the cars out the window as he blushes a deep blood red, the entirety of his body except for his cheeks drained dead, feeling as rejected as a punch in the gut by his own gay-bashing father. He lets out a sigh that signifies his depression and hatred toward the life he's been handed.

"Blaine, I want to be your friend. I want to help you with whatever's going on in your life right now." Kurt straightens in his seat, but not back to normal. "The past few weeks that I've gotten to know you a little bit… it just makes me want to know you more, but in order for that to be, you need to get over me… you need to get over me romantically. I don't want you… that way, at all. I can't." _Fucking liar._

"Because I'm seventeen."

Kurt nods.

"Among other unattractive qualities."

Kurt joggles his head and tilts forward to try to catch Blaine's line of sight. "Why do you think that nobody wants to know you?"

"Because nobody wants to know me, maybe?" Blaine's completely aware that he sounds like a whiny teenager, so he needs to reel it in. He doesn't have anyone who will listen, so he uncontrollably loads it all on Kurt. He just wishes the baggage was a little more well-received on Kurt's part.

Kurt stares at him, expectant of his continuation. "I just told you-"

Blaine interrupts. "You know my parents left for an all-inclusive, top-notch Mediterranean cruise yesterday? They're in Europe until further notice, gallivanting the Spanish countryside or whatever, making pasta in Italy and some shit, bathing off the coast of the Isle of Capri. They invited my brother and they invited my brother's girlfriend. You know who's elected to housesit… alone for the unforeseeable future? And really, it doesn't matter, not too much because I wouldn't have wanted to go anyway. It just would have been nice to be wanted. No one ever wants me, Kurt. I don't know why I'm getting so upset of your rejection, too. Just ignore me." There's a beat. "Forget I said any of that shit. I shouldn't be so open with you."

"I want you to be open with me, B." Kurt smiles. "But you wouldn't have gone on vacation with them, anyway, right?"

"It's the principle."

Kurt nods in understanding. Kurt always understands. "What are you going to do about it? Raise havoc? Go all _Braveheart_ on their asses? I'm not condoning that…"

"I'm gonna keep on. I'm gonna get outta here alive. You know?"

"Oh God, I know more than you think. But, B, you're living now, too, you know. And you have me? I officially apply to be your friend." Kurt fingers nervously through his hair and looks up at Blaine, a slight smile on his face, attempting for the look of encouragement. "I can't stop your parents from being shitty fucking scum of the earth, but I can make you forget about them for awhile?"

"I don't want to be your friend." There's a pause. "Kurt."

Kurt sits back in his chair. "Of course not, not big scary dangerous Blaine, he can do everything on his own." He smirks, clearly not understanding what Blaine meant and Blaine frowns. "But can it hurt to have _some_ support in this evil world? Santana seems to have 'broken ground with my boy,' you know, but I'm not seeing the walls crumble, and frankly… you're nice when they do." Kurt rises and takes the boy's face between his hands, looks square in his eyes and kisses his cheek. His lips linger, as if it's a brutal goodbye for anyone to see; that is what it is, isn't it?

"I have to go be a boss to these guys." He thumbs over his shoulder to the two young college students watching them intently. "Be good."

He escapes to the back room and cries.

* * *

Blaine groans; yanking the door open without a goodbye, unaware and not caring at all that his textbooks were left on his table, he trudges home five and a half hours too early. He's not even sure why he went to the Lima Bean today; his parents have been out of town for only a day, he's got the house to himself for a remaining week and a half. He gets home in record time and rips his headphones out of his ears, melting away into his mood.

Blaine thinks. It's always a problem when he lets his mind wander.

_Fuck it. It's not worth getting worked up over for yet another person not wanting me the way I want him. That little fucking fairy bitch is probably inexperienced as hell, and wouldn't even be a good lay. Fuck him, if he doesn't want me. I thought fucking teenagers would totally be his thing. _

_Kurt's a fucking stubborn teasing bitch. He gets this stupid idea that a relationship between us would never work and he sticks to it. Friends? He wants to be friends with me? That's fucking bullshit. Has he seen himself? Who wants to be friends with him? And I've seen the way he looks at me. He wants me so bad. _

_You want to lead me on? Fine. But two can play at this game. I'm gonna make you beg for me, like a little slut. You'll see just how much you miss me when I'm not fucking there to stare at anymore. _

_But God, will I miss that little bitch! He's seriously sex on a stick and I just don't know if I'm strong enough to not see him for as long as it takes. Whatever, I need lube. Fuck, and a new coffee shop. Fuck!_

Blaine knows he's a fuck up. He knows that he has never been seen as the perfect anything, or friend, or as though he is worth the effort. He knows all of that about himself. He just wishes Kurt wouldn't agree with him all the damn time. He most obviously does if he doesn't even want to _try_.

Blaine's depression is taking a whirlwind, wrecking and flailing every aspect of his life. He doesn't want to interact with anyone ever again, and he'd rather just go through this hell by himself. He doesn't need anyone, not a soul. It's even worse when he's as confused as he is now. He's confused why Kurt would ever lead him on like that. For weeks, it had been stolen glances, and kisses – on both the mouth and the cheek, lingering like it belonged – and free coffees, and a subtle almost-unnoticed "Reserved" sign on the windowsill next to his table. The flirting, maybe not so much in person but _definitely_ through text message, the guaranteed meal by the time of his arrival every single morning. All of this just hasn't felt like _just_ _friends_ to Blaine.

Blaine, without being conscience of where his feet lead him, is now sitting at the rough velvet bench. He slams down on the hard keys, producing a harsh unpracticed sound, like a toddler playing with his Fisher-Price keyboard. There is a noise trapped in Blaine's throat; the beginning of a sob. He allows himself to break down completely, as he plays.

_Every day is a struggle between what I wanna say_  
_And what I should keep to myself_  
_And the words that manage to leave my lips_  
_Don't hurt me, but they hurt everyone else._

_And I find myself in need of a pause_  
_I'm not sure why, but I think that it's because_  
_Of this desire to be what others want me to be_  
_Which is nothing close to me_

He stops trying, for these three minutes where he can truly be himself. His voice cracks through the song; the ivory and the black are left soaked with saline. As he wipes at his eyes, the moisture does not absorb and it floods into small abstract puddles and drops of rejection. He rips his phone out of his pocket and starts to type.

**_Blaine: I get it, pretty boy. I'll get over it. See you around._**

Blaine makes it a point to ensure that Kurt misses the hell out of him, but doesn't forget he ever existed. There's a thin line and this game can either work perfectly in his favor or plummet to hell.

* * *

Blaine's text breaks his heart, but he knows he has to stay strong and stand his ground in an effort to get the boy off his back, for the sake of Kurt not getting in trouble over this. Of course, he doesn't want him to disappear entirely, so he feels like he's treading in very deep water, seconds from drowning or a shark clenching down on his leg. He doesn't want Blaine to feel worthless, and he can only imagine the hateful thoughts the poor boy is thinking right about now – rejection, hate toward himself and Kurt, forced independence when all he needs is a team of supporters. He's allowed himself to lead him on toward something that they both obviously want so much, but could never happen. Kurt feels terrible that he's done this, and he realizes that it may be doing more bad than good to try to tone it down now. Of all the times Kurt's gotten his heart broken in the past, this has to be the worst because he's doing it to himself.

Kurt knows that he could wish away his entire life in a way that will never make sense. He could wish, until he's blue in the face, that Blaine has been lying this whole time, and he's actually twenty-four or so, only kidding about his illegal age for the drama's sake. He could hope to whatever spirit above that will listen that this was all just a misunderstanding and Blaine is not as fucked up as he seems, and they'd be really good for each other. They'd be so good together. Kurt could beg and plead with every damn judge in this place, it will never change Blaine's age. It'll never change Kurt's. It will never change the position they are stuck in.

Kurt finds himself daydreaming of his New York days, when everything was daisies and rainbows and a natural routine, taking part in creative activities he desired more than breathing or brushing his teeth. He allows his mind to drift into what it would be like to live there again, in present time, bringing along the knowledge he's gained since the first time he stepped foot in the Bushwick loft he shared with Rachel and later, Santana and Rachel. First things first, he'd indulge his tastes and find a somewhat affordable hidden gem on the Upper West Side, on a floor too high to utilize stairs. He'd splurge on a doorman – on _luxury_ – because he's almost thirty and let's face it, there's only so much you should sacrifice when your twenties are almost behind you. He sees another man strolling down their neighborhood street, right with him, hand in hand. In love. He's shorter, with glistening happy eyes and a jaw line to kill with the perfect amount of stubble. His curls are less than gelled and he has grown up. It's _Blaine_ with him forever.

Kurt is definitely at a major fork in his path of life. He can go toward the left and continue to push away this seventeen-year-old only because he's seventeen, or he could go right and have the chance to experience a love he's been waiting forever to come find him. He's not sure what to think, so he doesn't for a while, until he can't help but see his future.

It's like he's seeing the future. He's seeing his future with _Blaine_.

_Wait, what? Fuck. This needs to stop. It was over before it started. Stop fucking fantasizing. Not only is this kid seventeen years old, but he's messed up and will never get out of the system. This guy is a jailbird and dangerous and he'll hurt me worse than I could ever imagine. Go find someone who's ready to settle, go pick on someone my own age. It's not fair to the kid, and it's not fair to me. Push the feelings aside and let him go._

* * *

Blaine's worked out his master plan. He will demolish any routine he's formed thus far, and if he wants to go to the coffee shop at all, it will only be to get a coffee. Blaine decides he definitely won't go to the coffee shop tomorrow. He might not go for the rest of the week, especially since his parents are out of town for a while, and he can do his work at home. _Except that you fled the scene without taking your stupid books, asshole._ So, Blaine can work on his music freely for once, without his parents barging in and ordering him to stop, saying that expression through the arts is only for faggots unless you're famous. And even then…

In theory, these days on end without seeing Kurt's face, or staring back into his incredible eyes, seems like a fantastic plan; it's a great way to make sure Kurt knows what he could have but keeps rejecting. But Blaine is human, and he's already missing Kurt. If all else fails, he knows he'll need to find a quick fuck to get over this man. Eventually. Maybe. He's scared of how he feels without Kurt.

Blaine's lying in bed, wide awake at two AM, and trying to figure out the ways he's going to distract himself for as long as it takes. This week is pretty easy, but what about when his parents come home? He wants to stay away from them as much as possible, as usual, given the instability of his father, generally speaking. He'll have to research other places he can spend his time within a four-mile radius. That can wait until the morning; he has ten days to figure it out.

* * *

Five in the morning comes mighty quickly in Kurt's life. As per usual since Blaine slammed into his heart, Kurt's hardly gotten any sleep whatsoever, staying awake for hours into the night debating back and forth between his pros and cons list, both written and in his head. He's excited to open up downstairs and see firsthand Blaine's reaction to this new step in their relationship. _Friendship_.

He's eager to see Blaine's reactions to simple things. He wants to test the waters and see if they could continue to talk like they used to, or if Blaine is not interested in that if they're only going to be friends. There are so many questions, and Kurt figures he'll just take the boy's lead – like he did so long ago when they were silently challenging each other to speak the first word.

The man sleepily goes through the motions of opening the shop and it is suddenly 8:38.

_Kurt: So your last text was kinda cryptic. How close are you?_

Kurt automatically hangs his head. He so could have worded _that_ better. All this tension is taking him on the worst roller-coaster ride of his life. It's one of those old rickety wooden coasters that juggle your brain against the sides of the car, leaving you with a migraine for the rest of your time at Cedar Point.

He stares at his phone. 8:42. No answer. 8:47. No answer. Kurt warms a croissant and pours a medium drip. He mixes, tastes, mixes. He sets it on the Carrie Table. He waits. 9:03. He waits. 9:05. There are no bells. 9:09. Blaine is late. 9:15. _Where is he?_ 9:34. _Well, he said his parents are out of town so at least I know he's probably not dead by way of father-fist._ He removes the carbs and coffee and trashes them. 9:36. Kurt excuses himself and goes upstairs. 9:39. Kurt slams the door to his apartment and cries, sliding down the door until he's sprawled out and sobbing on the floor in the foyer.

* * *

Blaine stares at his phone; he hopes he's doing the right thing by ignoring Kurt for a few days. Sure, it's fucking hard, but someone needs to take charge in this relationship. _Friendship_.

_No! Nevermind. I don't want to be his fucking friend. There's nothing he can do for me that I can't already do for myself. Fuck him. He can go fuck himself on a four-foot pole. _

Blaine's super power is distancing and only fending for himself; he can shut down in the middle of any conversation or thought, and his walls can lock in over him as if he was never there. He detaches from the world for the next few days, not only from Kurt and the world he lives in within the Lima Bean, but every single idiot who's stupid enough to be in his life. He stays away from the coffee shop. Cooper found his number somehow and hasn't been shy to use it. Even his mom calls to check up on him, on the landline of course. Santana wastes hours of her day sitting in his driveway. Her missed call log is borderline harassment, which he finds ironic being that she's his parole officer of all things, and Kurt's texts are nearing the triple digits.

_Kurt: Where are you? Are you okay?_  
_Kurt: Blaine… please tell me you haven't converted to Starbucks._  
_Kurt: B! _  
_Kurt: Oh my God. You're ignoring me? Fuck it._  
_Kurt: This is it. I want to help you but you're proving to be really fucking stubborn. _  
_Kurt: I know your parents aren't around, please let me know you're good?_  
_Kurt: Fuck you._  
_Kurt: Seriously, just tell me you're okay. I'm gonna tell Santana, she'll find you._  
_Kurt: I'll take the hint. See you around._  
_Kurt: Look. I'm around if you ever need me. You know where to find me._

* * *

Kurt puts his phone down on the Carrie Table and bangs his head against it three painful times. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"Still not answering?"

Kurt gives Santana his best bitch face. "Honestly, I don't know why he can't see that it could never work. I told him I still want to be friends with him, but he's apparently not having it. I think I was too hard on him. He's fragile."

Santana shrugs; he knows only half of her heart is in this conversation. It's the same one they've had, over delicious coffee, every day since Blaine vanished.

"You need to get laid."

Ignoring any smug comments from his dear friend about sex, he responds as though it was never said. "But also… what if he's actually hurt? What if he's not answering me because he physically can't?"

Santana sighs and looks at him.

"He's fine. I saw him through a window in his house this morning, but he refuses to answer the door. If it's all meant to be… as creepy as it is, then it'll be, Hummel."

"Oh don't get so stupid and philosophical on me. We both know you don't believe in any of that bullshit."

It was true, though, and Kurt believes that now. There's no use putting in the effort in if Blaine's already moved on. Which, Kurt unfortunately realizes, is something he demanded of Blaine in the first place. He wanted this. He's so damn conflicted; he hates not knowing the end of his story.

The end is inevitable. He hates taking the chance of pushing Blaine away if, despite all the drama, they were supposed to meet in the first place. But he doesn't know that for sure. He can't confirm whether or not their meeting was sheer coincidence to save Santana's ass at the courthouse, or if it was for something a bit more special than Santana's ass. Maybe it was for the sake of _his_ ass. _His_ heart. _A start of a life together._

Surviving McKinley wasn't his end, nor was NYADA or . Past boyfriends were certainly not the end. Inheriting a career in coffee isn't the end. What if Blaine is Kurt's end? What if Blaine is the shiny, new prize that Kurt receives after going through the bullying and the broke stage in New York and the break ups and the depression and all the damn loss? _Would I be able to live with myself if I throw that all away over a few months until his eighteenth birthday?_

This is Kurt's last falter back and forth into working himself in and out of lust. It's not just the boy's age that is the problem. There are underlying issues that fall beneath the surface so deep that it's unfixable. Kurt cannot go through the process of fixing a person only to be left alone. It's not worth the effort, and his jaded heart tells him _no, no, no, no, no, no, no_.

But now, at Santana's sharp tongue, even though they could never be together, he is proud of Blaine for giving up on them for the sake of both of their sanities. He is, however, also remotely sad that Blaine did give up on him that easily, without so much as a fight. He lets that part go quickly; it's all for the best. It's true with every other relationship in his life. People always leave, but probably because Kurt always pushes them away.

* * *

Kurt has officially let it all go. It's now been a full week with not a word from Blaine. Kurt is finished.

He pushes his chair out from under him and goes to the back room to complete some payroll paperwork. Although he is somewhat distracted, Kurt knows from experience that every day will get better; it will get easier until Blaine is nothing but a figment of his lonely imagination.

He'll allow Blaine to do his thing, away from him, and he'll continue to perform business as usual at the Lima Bean, and he doesn't let Santana tell him where Blaine lives; having that information would prove especially difficult to stay away. He has to stay away, no questions asked. He doesn't want to know if Santana's heard from him. If Blaine doesn't even want to be friends, then they don't have to be. Kurt is done. Besides, it wouldn't have benefited Kurt in any way, only Blaine and Santana. Kurt needs to learn to be a little more selfish. He needs to seek out friendships and relationships and _partners_ that will be good for him, certainly not the other way around. Kurt tries his hardest to shrug it off. Then, like nothing…

**_Blaine: Miss me?_**  
_Kurt: What the hell? I wrote you off four days ago, Blaine. Obviously come to me if you need anything, but I'm pretty fucking pissed at you._  
_Kurt: So now I'm done. With you._  
_Kurt: If you want, try to come around when you're ready to be a decent human who realizes that people fucking care about you and your well-being. _  
_Kurt: Until then, fuck you._  
**_Blaine: Gladly, pretty boy. _**

This was the last Kurt Hummel heard from Blaine Anderson for an entire month.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Songs used in this chapter:**  
**Underneath – Adam Lambert**  
**Never Gonna Leave This Bed - Maroon 5**

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the abundance of reviews! I am overwhelmed by each and every one of them, and can only offer gratitude from the depths of my soul for them. You all have no idea what they mean to me. I've been a nervous wreck posting this so seeing positive feedback is incredible. With all of that said, I am very eager to hear what you all think about this chapter! It was literally the death of me when I was writing it, and I can't help but flail and hide in the corner as soon as I post this. Before you read the below, though, please open a new tab and go to Twitter user CynicalGlee. Follow her if you aren't already - she is the hilarious Glee microblogger who just so happens to be my incredible beta. That Twitter account is the only reason why I'm making it through this hellish hiatus! Also, follow me on Tumblr, will you? (/becausehiships) and have a very Merry Christmas if you celebrate! I'm back with chapter 11 on Thursday! Love you all!_

_August_

Kurt doesn't hear a peep from Blaine. It serves him right, pushing him away like that in the previous text messages last month. Kurt's working toward feeling normal again, and it's almost like Blaine never even turned his world around in the slightest at the beginning of their summer dancing around their feelings. Kurt is glad he was able to know him though, if only for a short while, to ease him into his working relationship with Santana. Blaine needs Santana, and so Kurt figures that was the purpose of the initial meeting.

Kurt's usual life is restored; it's back to shipments of espresso and grinding coffee beans and pouring steamed milk and art by way of caramel-chocolate drizzle. Existence post-Blaine isn't entirely fulfilling, but it accomplishes the sake of purpose. Kurt returns to normalcy, a life without fear of being ambushed by a thoroughly unexpectedly _sexy, hot, adorable… dangerous, bad for you, ill-mannered_ teenager with the ability to take his breath away by only peering through the most gorgeous set of eyelashes _ever_.

Kurt is okay now; he's fine. He's a healed man with nothing but his thirties ahead of him. He wants to buy a house with a fence and a yard; he could rent out the apartment upstairs from the Lima Bean for some extra income toward his mortgage. Blaine Anderson could walk into the coffee shop _right now_ and Kurt would turn away his cheek and act like he's not even there.

Or at least that's his practiced speech in case any one person is asking.

The real story is that life without Blaine… well, it sucks. Existing without Blaine's smile in his direction every weekday morning is a stormy cloud that he cannot escape. It's the inability to perform sexually for his right hand because he refuses to think of Blaine, but cannot save himself enough to think of anyone else, thus making for several unsuccessful attempts at pleasing himself. It's jumping up, his eyes racing to the door with every sound of the bell. It's be-dazzling the "Reserved" sign on the Carrie Table and making it the prominent centerpiece, hot glue-gunned to the table so no _other_ teenager can deface or steal it. Missing Blaine is totally the deepest, darkest fiery red hellhole in the center of the earth.

And, as if that's not enough, he has a seriously disgusting abundance of butter croissants.

* * *

Missing Kurt isn't so bad; it's really just the fact that he has to deal with the burnt espresso beans being churned in the over-extravagant, pre-timed machine at Starbucks every single morning. The baristas are less than personable, and there is no chance of obtaining a regular table in a place of snooty, uncomfortable, pretentious twenty-something "writers."

Blaine's drained from creating work for himself these past few weeks, and although it wasn't harder to do without the textbooks he left at the Lima Bean last month, he would really like them back. Too much time has passed to ask for them, unfortunately, and Blaine hopes that when the reunion finally happens, Kurt will return them unscathed. It's been a month, though, and Blaine is starting to get concerned that his plan is going to be shot to hell and for nothing.

He opts out of reading more and browses the College Board guide he borrowed from the public library, in hopes of picking and choosing where he'll end up after he passes this shit. Maybe he can even move for the Spring Semester.

_Fordham. NYU. Marymount. Columbia. _

Christian Anderson would probably steer him toward Columbia, being that it's better than the rest. That is, if he cared enough for Blaine to go somewhere incredible. Andersons only attend the best of the best for both their undergrad and then their law degree. It would also be the easiest way to get his father to fund the whole ordeal, and Blaine really doesn't want to borrow money from the government for something as necessary as college. He wants to live it up in New York and not have to worry about a thing. Come to think of it, he'd be set to do that and more either way, so he stops worrying. The conversation will probably end in a fight, but might go well for the sake of at least one of Christian Anderson's sons getting a valid education. He's got Cooper's revolt to the dark side of the arts on his side. Hopefully he can transfer out of pre-law without the school writing home to inform the elder Andersons.

College has always been on Blaine's to-do list. If anything, it would play an integral part to get him the fuck out of Ohio. He steered toward New York in the past because he knew he had family in the other gay-friendly option: California. Now that his high school transcript is messy and incomplete, Blaine isn't sure what he wants anymore. He doubts he can get in, but believes that this is the only way to get out of Lima. He'd have to speak about it with his parents, unfortunately. Maybe he can sell it as an easy way to get him out of their lives for at least the next few years. Assuming he can still get in somewhere.

He shrugs to himself and throws his messenger bag over his shoulder, throwing his half-empty cup of coffee in the trash on the way out. How they burnt even a regular coffee, he'll never understand.

The Starbucks is located in the center of the Lima Shop Plex Mall. Complete with a three-movie theatre next door, and typical Ohio establishments – The Gap, Sears, Golden Corral. This explains why Blaine only has patience for simple loose-ish jeans and white tee shirts.

He storms out of the mall and starts his journey home as quickly as possible. He tries to avoid the mall usually, in case there are people there he knows, but with avoiding both Kurt and the mall, he was left with nothing so he decided to revoke his number one rule of little-to-no interaction with the assholes in Lima for the sake of some entertainment for himself. He has yet to see anyone, thank God, but you just never know when those navy blazers want to drive two hours for the sake of a Lands End tie.

Walking on the side of Elida Road could be life threatening and scary sometimes, so Blaine takes extra care, until some idiot nearly kills him by swerving inches away from his legs.

"What the fuck… oh. Dad." The car stops and his father is bending over to talk to his son, leaning over the middle console to open the door from the inside.

"Get in, little faggy son of mine."

Blaine hesitates for a moment, trying to get a feel for exactly how sober his father might be right now. His eyes aren't nearly as bloodshot as they could be, so he climbs in and buckles his seatbelt immediately but keeps his hand on the clicker just in case he needs to roll out with no notice. He then looks over to Christian expectedly. He didn't mind walking; he'll see how this conversation goes before truly making the decision to bum a ride.

"I'm on my way home. Wouldn't want you to showcase your gay-ness walking back. Gotta hide you from the world, right Blaine?" His words are said with a jolt to each syllable, a teasing and humiliating tone.

Blaine doesn't respond. He stares straight out the front windshield and rolls his eyes. Maybe now is the perfect time for a college discussion. If he crashes the car, at least there's a possibility of the man dying, too. And at least he's too distracted driving to kick him in the gut.

"I was researching colleges today."

"Why don't we send you to BYU? Those Mormons will straighten you right up. Utah is far enough for my liking. I won't have to stare at your faggot face every day."

"Columbia in New York?" It comes out as a question; Blaine's suddenly nervous of what his father would think.

Christian Anderson explodes in laughter.

"I just thought… it's Ivy League. It's a really good school and I'd be able to really…"

The only person in the world that Blaine is afraid of is his father.

His father slaps at the steering wheel, wheezing for air in between childish giggles. He's not paying attention to the road at all; his eyes are clasped shut in a fit of the funniest thing he's apparently ever heard.

"Do well… there… Dad! Watch it!"

He snaps out of it and swerves into a wide turn into their neighborhood. It's reckless to say the least.

"They don't let ex-con faggot dropouts with a GED into _Columbia_, Blaine. You've gotta be kidding me."

They get home; Blaine slams the car door and jogs up into the house, up the stairs, into his bedroom, spacing his distance between him and his father as effectively as possible. He locks the door and buries his face in his pillow and welcomes his tears to the freedom of his cheeks.

He turns to lie on his back and turns his head to rest on the 100% goose down. Closing his eyes, his mind drifts to things that used to make him happy. When he was five, it was soft-serve ice cream cones and rainbow sprinkles. When he was eight, it was the Ninja Turtles and My Little Pony and _The_ _Smurfs_. When he was eleven, it was the Backstreet Boys and a little bit of Hanson and _Doug_ reruns on tape from Cooper's collection on the big screen in the basement. When he was fourteen, it was the boy in his English class that he watched from afar, never letting on that he was even remotely gay to anyone in school. When he was fifteen, it was absolutely nothing in this terrible world. When he was sixteen, it was stealing things and getting attention from his parents to watch him instead of paying other people to take care of him and drinking and so many drugs and hand jobs for and from anyone who was willing. (If anyone asked, of course, he is most definitely not a virgin, and used to have a lot of sex with anyone who would spread their legs.)

Today, it's Kurt. It's still Kurt. _Fuck! Kurt, who said that no matter what, he'll always be there. Kurt, beautiful and selfless and gorgeous Kurt. _

Blaine isn't made for college. His father is right, the top-notch schools he's exploring would never, in a million years, allow him to study there with his track record, with his past. It was stupid of him to think he should try.

He pulls his eyes open and focuses on the almost-empty glass, left with only a half inch of yesterday's Sprite. He empties the contents into his stomach and smashes the rim onto his desk. The glass shatters in a million mosaic pieces. He sits up and examines the mess against the surface; it's a beautiful combination of shapes and ridged edges, all see-through into the deep maple stain of the wood. The light from the tabletop lamp is reflecting in a crystal manner. He palms a perfect triangle fragment, twirling it between his fingers, taking care to avoid slitting his fingertips open. He tilts his head, submerged in trying to rationalize his following movement. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses the hunk of glass to his skin and applies the appropriate pressure.

_A red river of screams, underneath_  
_Tears in my eyes, underneath_  
_Stars in my black and blue sky_  
_and underneath_  
_Under my skin_  
_Underneath, the depths of my sin_  
_Look at me, now do you see?_

Blaine's world is blurry and he'd sacrifice anything to fade into a slumber, but he did this for a reason, and now he must live with his decision. His arm is limp and stained red. He grimaces at the sight, but knows he has to follow through with the next step, or all of this would have been for nothing. He scrolls to the only contact saved in his phone and waits, the noise on the other end mocking his very existence.

"Ready to stop being an asshole?"

"Kurt." Blaine's voice is wrecked, weak, damaged.

"What's the matter?"

"Can I… come over… please?"

"Text me your address, I'll come get you." Kurt knows there's something wrong.

"No… You can't come here, Kurt. I'll see you soon."

Blaine hangs up.

* * *

Kurt is freaking out. He's flustered; he can't speak in complete sentences. He tries to tell Julie and Austin that he'll be upstairs if they need him and he bursts out the front door, almost trampling Mrs. Caputo, one of his favorite customers. He waves her off when she shows concern for his well-being and unlocks both doors to his apartment, propping them open slightly with rocks found off the side of the curb for easier access when Blaine arrives. He has no idea what to expect, but he knows that he needs to prepare himself for _something_.

Kurt paces up and down the short block of Main Street between Bell and Crocker Streets. He's squeezing his cell phone between his palms, impatiently glancing up and down both ways then down to his phone every three and a half seconds (Kurt knows, he counts); he's never actually noticed which way Blaine comes from when he walks to the coffee shop. He should have paid more attention at some point so he could have walked in the right direction. How has it already been forty-five minutes since the phone conversation?

"Kurt."

Kurt whips around and witnesses Blaine's slow and steady approach. He knew it would be bad, but never would have taken Blaine for someone who punishes himself in his own self-harm.

"Jesus, Blaine. What the hell did you do?" He wraps one arm around the boy's shoulder, and grasps his slit arm by the wrist, just below the open wound. "Come on, honey. Let's get you cleaned up." Kurt toes at the front door and leads him up the stairs, allowing Blaine into his apartment.

All too familiarly from last time, Kurt throws the boy onto the couch and retrieves the first aid kit. He sits down gently and looks into his eyes for a New York minute. Blaine's eyes shift to the floor and Kurt focuses on playing doctor.

"No emergency room?" Kurt tries for the second time since he's known him.

"Please, no. No cops, and they'll definitely put me on suicide watch. Wanna bet what my dad would think of that?"

"Okay, okay. This is going to sting… but at least it's not your brain this time, right?" Kurt empties a puddle of peroxide onto clean gauze, of which he had to replenish all too recently, and holds it to Blaine's forearm. His fingers on his opposite hand are wrapped around Blaine's wrist in anticipation of a jolt to escape. Blaine growls in the back of his throat, clenches his jaw, and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

"Fucking Jesus, Kurt! Stop!"

"It needs to get clean, B. Hold still…" Blaine peers up at him and Kurt meets him with a sad smile. "What the fuck were you thinking, B?"

"My dad and I had a conversation about college." As he thinks about it more and more, Blaine officially decides he doesn't want to further his education. He's given up, and although he still plans to move as far away as possible, he will not go to college.

"And? Blaine, people have arguments with their stupid parents all the time. That doesn't mean…"

"That I need to cut myself? I wasn't trying to kill…"

"I know that."

"I wouldn't leave you like that. I just… he helped me realize that college is just not for me, I guess."

Kurt brushes a stringy curl out of Blaine's eyes and tilts his head, and looks back down to the gash across the boy's forearm. It's not deep enough to need stitches, but it's still done some damage. It'll leave a mark, for sure. The gash was a diagonal check mark across, the red ridges contrasting against his olive skin. The gash is all the validation Kurt needs to prove to himself that it's imperative he's present for Blaine. They can't play these games and lose contact anymore. Just two more inches and…

"Okay, but for the record, you should know that I've missed you these past few weeks. And I'd miss you a hell of a lot more if... if I never got to see you again."

"I wasn't trying to kill myself, Kurt. Cut the crap." Blaine growls again at the contact of more peroxide, flinching his eyes away from the search of Kurt's steel blues for his. "I just needed to make sure I could still feel physical pain, or if the emotional stuff took that away from me, too."

"Jesus, Blaine."

Kurt handles Blaine's arm with grace, swiping more of the hospital-grade gauze from the coffee table in front of them and wrapping the injury into a cotton cocoon. He kisses the spot over the gauze and pulls the boy into a world-famous Kurt Hummel bear hug.

"College isn't for everyone, but please don't dismiss it because of whatever your father said. You already know how he works to make you feel badly about yourself."

"I know. This isn't really about him, though. I just want to get out of here, and I don't need school. Maybe not right away."

Blaine melts into Kurt's body, leaning all of his weight completely on him. His head meets the man's shoulder and they stay in place for several minutes. Kurt's rubbing small circles counterclockwise between Blaine's shoulder blades whispering sweet encouraging phrases into his ear, his lips grazing against the shell of his ear with every word; his breath, warm and comforting. Kurt Hummel feels like home.

"I really approve of you coming to me when you need help, B."

"Yeah well, everyone else would let the secret out that I'm a lot more vulnerable than I let on." Blaine smiles a bit as Kurt chuckles into his hair.

Blaine feels the need to tell him more gritty details about the college conversation, "He laughed at me when I said I was considering Columbia. He thought it was the funniest fucking thing ever that_ I_ would ever want to go to a _good_ school."

Kurt sighs and crinkles his forehead into a plethora of wrinkled stress, but encouraging him to go on.

"He said they would never consider accepting a faggot… dropout on probation. Or whatever."

"Oh, honey. You can't listen to those ignorant names that he calls you, and besides, none of that defines who you are." Kurt pulls him back in and they connect again, forming the exact shape they maintained moments earlier.

"And you're okay?" Kurt tilts his head downward to meet with Blaine's eyes.

"Fine." Blaine gazes deeply into Kurt's, ripping through the first few layers and looking directly into the wheels turning in this gorgeous man's brain, laid out on the table for him to decipher. They are locked to each other at every possible point of contact, tangled in one another, mind, body, and soul. Kurt licks his lips. Blaine mimics. There's nothing left to do, except to close the gap.

Blaine plunges his tongue into Kurt's throat with force, and Kurt sputters for a second, his eyes wide like a doe without his mother, his arms flailing minutely then dropping to his sides, allowing it to happen. _We can't do this. He's seventeen._ His thoughts are ripped out of his head when he finds himself shoved against the couch's plush arm.

Breaking the kiss, Blaine stands and stares down on Kurt before pulling him up by the collar of the man's shirt. Blaine inches around Kurt and digs his palms into both his shoulders, leading him down the hall blindly. He's never been anywhere past the kitchen, so he relies on Kurt to show him the way. Kurt pulls Blaine in front of him by his sleeve so they're chest-to-chest and Blaine is walking backwards. Kurt steps over and outside of the boy's feet as he leads him into the bedroom, and molests his mouth, licking to the inside of his cheek, teeth, and tongue. Blaine yanks the man and slams him against the wall inside Kurt's bedroom next to the door and reaches to the side of Kurt's ass to lock it.

"I live alone, B," Kurt explains with a small smile, tapping his chest lightly. Kurt can't seem to control the bulge of his eyes. He knows what's about to happen and he doesn't know if he even wants to stop it.

_God, he's adorable. He thinks my parents are going to come barging in or something and catch us. I can't even._

Blaine's mouth makes contact with Kurt's collarbone and lingers until he decides to inch it back up via skin contact on the way home to his mouth again. Kurt's fingers find Blaine's and they intertwine their hands into somewhat of a rising dance move over their heads. Kurt leads them back down and lets go.

Blaine gives a slight shrug with one shoulder and connects his lips back to join their mouths as one. Kurt lets it happen _again_. Despite his internal screaming and fighting Blaine off, Kurt reshapes his lips as an invite and lures Blaine's tongue to crash with his again. This kiss is full of passion, desire, and need. Kurt throws his hands around Blaine's neck and he grasps his own wrist in an attempt to keep things romantic, although he is literally pinned against the wall and wouldn't be able to budge even an inch if he tried.

Blaine backs away only a few inches to properly look into his eyes. Kurt tilts his head in question. "I have to ask… Is this okay, pretty boy?" Blaine looks nervous and shifts his eyes anywhere but toward Kurt's.

_God, yes._

"We can't do this, Blaine." Kurt twirls out from underneath him and crosses his arms across his chest in a mockery of being angry, or an attempt to appear closed off. This is the hardest acting scene he's ever had to perform. "I have to resist this. I'm so sorry." He shifts his weight and looks back to Blaine. His face is full of expression with shifty, wide eyes and a scared look plastered across his face.

Blaine's shoulders slouch into each other, "You can't tell me you don't feel it. This." Blaine approaches him slowly and allows the corners of his mouth to move upwards. "You take care of me all the time, Kurt. Let me take care of you for once."

Kurt's confused and Kurt is defensive. He blocks himself from being touched by throwing his left hand up and pushes into Blaine's clavicle. Blaine's eyeballs are stirring and searching for any glimmer of invitation in Kurt's eyes, and he must have found some. Blaine is abruptly kissing Kurt's open mouth again, but at a gentler, more romantic pace. It's Blaine's turn to wrap Kurt's neck, and they pull together forcing the kiss deeply.

Kurt responds with an open mouth and licks, for lack of a better word, the boy's tongue. The kiss shifts to hot and steamy; Blaine's palms are pushing down on Kurt's shoulders so he can better reach his lips, but Kurt reacts by curving his spine and bowing his head down at an invasive angle, and he's gripping at Blaine's cheeks. He has a good four inches on the boy, and is significantly turned on by this fact for whatever reason he'll never understand.

Blaine turns his head to let himself out of the man's hold. "Maybe I'm selfish, but I don't care what you say. This. This is real." Blaine senses he'll need to convince Kurt some more, so he mentally prepares for more words to be said and then it hits him.

He quickly realizes that he can just lure him with his body, and rather simply if he does say so himself. The truth is seconds away. Blaine removes his shirt in one swift movement and throws it… somewhere. He then unbuttons Kurt's shirt and peels it off, throwing it in the same direction as his own. Kurt's eyes are locked on Blaine, studying him intently, seemingly taking it all in; etching this part to the very fibers of his brain. Blaine looks up at him and smiles; he's able to understand Kurt's scowl that he wants so badly to refrain from enjoying another person undressing him but can't find the words to ask him to stop. Kurt is mesmerized and so Blaine takes advantage of the perfect timing for Kurt's vocal chords to go on rest. He continues.

Blaine finds Kurt's pulse and sucks until he's convinced there's a mark. He stands back, and admires his work, nodding in approval. He looks up into Kurt's eyes, and they are filled with desire. The man's jaw is relaxed, with his mouth slightly open in shock.

What Blaine doesn't see is that Kurt is terrified and entirely unsure how to stop this. He is paralyzed with fear, balls of fists nervously knocking into his hipbones on each side, but also desire. Blaine doesn't recognize the feelings in Kurt's eyes of self-disgust and regret. Kurt's mind is wailing obscene words at himself: _fucking_ _rapist, child molester, betrayal! Stop this now, Kurt, before you regret it, and he regrets it, forever! You will both be ruined._

_Oh my God, this cannot be real. It feels so good! Ohhh, but he's a child. He's a child who wasn't born when… ugghh! Jesus fucking Christ, that's going to leave a nice mark. How the fuck… Jesus… don't stop... Fuck. I can't do this, not with him. He's too damaged, too broken. Fucking shit, make it stop. _

_No. No. No. No. Fucking Jesus, no._

Despite the most negative monologue he has with himself of all time, Kurt proceeds to walk Blaine backwards into the corner and pushes him onto the bed's surface so hard that the boy bounces back and hits his head slightly on the headboard. He rubs his head sheepishly and steadies himself with his hands pushed upside down across the pillows, then Kurt hovers over him never losing contact. He flips the boy over, rubbing his hands up his back and across the _holyhell_ defined lines of muscle. He pushes into his shoulders in a quick massage movement, and lays a kiss to the curve between Blaine's shoulder blades. He slides his hands down the boy's body as if he's memorizing every bulge and curve, working his way around the angle of his hips, caressing his thighs, and squeezing his calves until there is an abrupt stop at the piece of metal attached to Blaine's ankle.

"Awkward."

Kurt ignores Blaine's poor excuse for a joke and massages the skin around the box and kisses the foreign object attached to Blaine's body tenderly as if omitting any fear that this boy is danger. He trails his lips up his leg, and detaches them from the boy's skin before he gets too close to the private areas. He stares in the general area of Blaine's cock, already forming a mold for Kurt to watch. He rubs his hands from Blaine's knees to right before the triangle where his thigh meets his groin. He stops and his arms fly back to his sides. He can look but he can't touch.

_The "use my body like a fucking prostitute" game must have worked, for the most part. I can be his little tight ass to do with whatever he pleases. I thought old guys got off on this, like, all the time. Con-fucking-firmed._

Kurt rolls his eyes at himself; he just told himself not to touch. He moans as his hands instinctively find the curve above Blaine's ass, and creep slowly into the space between his cheeks. Blaine freezes, thus empowering Kurt to come to a halt, clearly against his cock's will. Kurt takes his mouth to the small of Blaine's back and kisses him lightly before sitting up and back on his knees. Blaine scurries out of his pants and boxers in one swift push downward and waits for Kurt to take him as he pleases.

Lowering himself quickly, Kurt kisses the small of his back again and works his hands to stroke his cheeks, fingers spreading each cheek away from one another with gentle pressure, and gets a glimpse of the ripple of his hole. He licks his lips, wanton and ready, staring down at the savory skin begging for lubrication of his saliva. He places a padded digit across the opening and pushes, not to insert, but to make Blaine feel. Blaine writhes under him and groans into the pillow.

Kurt smiles into the boy's side and nibbles at the baby-fat-pocket that sits above the indent of his waist.

Blaine thrusts into the mattress and looks back at him over his shoulder, his eyes glistening like the Caribbean Sea at midnight. This boy captivates Kurt like no one ever has.

_Don't do this. You'll never be able to stop, fool. You can look, just don't touch. Do not take advantage of him. Do not open him up and take him. Don't. No._

Well, so much for not touching. Kurt spreads the boy's cheeks for him and flicks his tongue across Blaine's hole and the sound out of the boy's mouth is sinful, like something he's never heard before. Kurt pulls away for a second, hands still holding him open, and licks his lips for the thousandth time in the past hour. Falling forward again to kiss at the opening, Kurt can't help but to linger with his face nudged between Blaine's most private area. He's in too deep now. He has to do something to control himself. He pulls away and fixes himself up on his knees, putting pressure in the right placement of his cock with his palm, through his pants. Blaine groans in defeat.

"_Please_. More, Kurt. Are you fucking kidding me?"

Kurt lays on top of Blaine's back, hard cock perfectly lined up to his ass. He prolongs a kiss to the back of his hair, and rolls off, plops himself on his back before adjusting his cock, and lets go of any air left in his lungs. His fingers intertwine, resting on his own chest. Blaine turns his head to look at him sideways and glances around the room, fighting to find Kurt's eyes to no avail. At the fail, Blaine turns again to stare at the ceiling, and rearranges his arms to rest his head on his hands.

"Obviously, we are not having problems with the Viagra prescription, old man, so care to clue me in to why you are so fucking abrupt with your damn teasing? You can't just stop… mid-rim like that, Kurt. I am way too young to have these blue, blue balls." Blaine crosses the leg with the ankle monitor to rest on the opposite knee and flexes the affected ankle almost like it's in pain; like the piece of metal is too tight.

"We can't do this. You're _seventeen_." Kurt eyes the movements of the boy's ankle, back to Blaine's face, and then to his hands.

"We were just doing it!" Blaine throws his arms up, slapping them back into the mattress, frustrated. He sits up, crossing his legs to go Indian style. "I _need_ you, Kurt. Please." He leans into the deep conversation he's not prepared for. His begging voice is raspy and his hair is already a little crazed.

_Imagine what he sounds like after everything else, after sex. Fuck! _Kurt needs to snap himself out of it. He sets himself up on his elbow and turns to look at Blaine square in the eye. "You don't understand how much I want you, Blaine. I just… I can't… can't be a rapist. This is… this would be rape. I can't do that to you, and I can't be locked up or worse for giving into my desires, as strongly as they're pulling me to you now. I just can't."

"It's not rape if I'm willing." Blaine blinks and changes his tone. "Look, I'll tell you what." He pushes Kurt down and straddles over him just enough so their erections meet. Kurt's hands grasp at his waist, subconsciously pulling to grind him and instruct him into bouncing and flailing over his seriously harder-than-ever cock. Blaine loses him and squirms down further so he's kneeling between Kurt's legs, pushing them open. He creates a trail of kisses from Kurt's chest, taking his time to both nipples. Kurt moans at each flick of the tongue, and Blaine soon arrives to the button of his jeans. He is licking in a circular motion so that Kurt is writhing and fighting to get his jeans off, off, and away. Blaine unbuttons and unzips Kurt's jeans, digs both pointer fingers into his belt loops, and tugs.

"Stop it! Stop!" Kurt scrams away from him, nearly tripping over his pants and boxer-briefs twisted at his ankles. He struggles for a minute, but manages to pull them back up. He zips and buttons, and heads to the door. Holding the door to the bedroom open, Kurt looks back to Blaine. "You have to go."

Blaine studies Kurt's face for a long moment. When he sees that he's definitely not kidding around, he gathers his clothing from across the room, and walks out into the living room, shamelessly naked, and turning to face Kurt on the other side of the doorway. Kurt slams his bedroom door closed and Blaine blinks. He hears the shower, cold he presumes, come to life in his en suite area.

Blaine blinks again. What can he do? The front door is haunting him, but he doesn't want to leave just yet. He hasn't gotten what he came for.

Blaine is a fucking genius. He jumps into his boxers and his pants and throws his shirt onto the couch haphazardly.

He waltzes over to the foyer and opens the front door, then slams it shut without exiting. He makes a point to research the photos around the TV room, to search out the types of books Kurt owns, his DVD collection. He tip toes to the man's kitchen and examines what type of foods and drinks he has on hand. He's full-blown snooping now. There's a small home office off the cooking area, and he peaks into the modern and rather comfortable room. His eyes graze the neat desktop, and he finds himself sitting in the large leather chair with wheels and spins twice and then twice more. His hand knocks the mouse to bring Kurt's Macbook to life; his screensaver is a gorgeous picture of Central Park from the Empire State Building's point of view. Blaine finds himself staring at it for a minute before he snaps himself out of it and prepares himself for convincing Kurt he should sleep with him tonight. Kurt's life seems pretty stable, well put-together; he seems like a responsible person.

Blaine approves of his established lifestyle.

_I guess this is how I'd want to live when I'm twenty-eight. _

Blaine moves the mouse again, and the desktop is displayed with a flash. He's twirling on the chair again and stops abruptly when a Word document entitled "BLAINE" catches his eye on the monitor. He blinks tirelessly and clicks.

_A Pros/Cons list. This is interesting._

The list comes to life at his pointer finger's click, and Blaine scans through, stopping at words and phrases that make a difference.

**PROS:** not as much of an asshole as he leads on, I can help him, hot!, I could love him, connection, smile, eyes, attitude, artsy, singer, piano, emotional.

**CONS:** seventeen, seventeen, seventeen, GED, daddy issues, Santana, Dad, ankle monitor, a seventeen-year-old bad boy with a record on probation, so damn bad for me, I could love him, emotional.

_You know it, baby. Spot on._

This heightens Blaine's mood more than he thought it would, and he's more determined than ever to get with Kurt as soon as possible and make it last.

Blaine sneaks back into the bedroom and strips completely. He allows himself to fall backwards into the bed like an act of triumph, and he waits. He practices several positions to present to Kurt when he comes back into the bedroom. He doesn't want to look stupid, or that he's trying too hard, so he finally settles on climbing under the covers and lies on his back, waiting for Kurt's shower to end. His eyes shift back to the doorknob of the bathroom every five seconds.

Blaine has nothing to do while he waits, and he doesn't want to come yet so he refrains from thinking what Kurt must look like in the shower right now, as he lays in the man's bed. His mind wanders again.

_He finds himself entranced in a complicated and intense love story, ten years or so from today. He's waiting for his husband to get out of the shower so they can maybe go again, or fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms. He can hear the puppy scratching at the door but it's weird to let her watch so Blaine ignores it. Blaine is euphoric, grinning at how in sync he is with his husband. Kurt – when did the imaginary husband become Kurt? – is leaning against the bathroom door's frame with folded arms and a half smirk pasted across his face._

Kurt's leaning against the bathroom door's frame with folded arms across his chest and a half-satisfied smirk pasted across his face. "You _have_ to go, Blaine. Please."

He flashes a glance at Kurt, who's watching him intently. He tries a smile with no indication of moving. Kurt approaches and sits on the corner of the bed.

"You're making this very hard for the both of us, you know."

"You know what else is very hard?"

"_Blaine_."

"Kurt." He says his name as he always does, like there is no other word in his language.

"Blaine, please. Go home."

"That's weird, I don't have one of those." He catches his eye again, leans up to kiss him only once and lightly, the blanket slipping and showing off his boyish figure. "Think I could sleep over tonight? Maybe make this bed my home for a few hours? We don't even have to… umm…"

Kurt sighs. "I just… don't think this is a good idea. Not with how things are. Not with what just happened. Not with what we want." Kurt holds his towel around his hips closed and smoothes out where the two ends overlap to ensure there are no slits of skin.

Blaine rises to his feet and covers Kurt's hands with his own at the towel's seam, and straddles him, one leg brushing against each of Kurt's thighs. He releases his hands from Kurt's towel to run his fingers through the man's damp hair. He's grinding lightly into Kurt's lap, "You said if I need anything… I need you, Kurt."

Blaine releases one hand and traces across Kurt's naked chest horizontally, gazing into Kurt's soul with heart eyes. He rises off of Kurt's lap again, and palms the skin above Kurt's heart and places a kiss above his fingertips. He nudges ever so slightly so Kurt falls backwards and the towel drapes open just enough to get a taste. The man spiders back onto the bed before settling in the center, abandoning the towel where it's left hanging off the corner of the mattress.

Who knew romance was the key to Kurt's heart?

Blaine takes the opportunity to return to his original position between his legs. His fingers move from Kurt's eyelids to mouth to chest to stomach before finally landing on the beautiful display he finds before him, just for him.

"You live for the romance of it all, don't you pretty boy?" He doesn't wait for the response; he hooks his forearms around Kurt's calves and holds them up and apart so Kurt is in the perfect position to take him hard, fast, and deep. He places chaste kisses from his ankle to his knee, and then on the other leg before licking up both thighs and glancing up into Kurt's face from between his legs. Kurt's head is thrown back, his eyes shut, fists full of comforter, and the top of his head resting on the headboard perpendicularly.

"It's not rape if I'm the one fucking you. So gorgeous. You are… you're so sexy, Kurt, Jesus..." Blaine lines up his painfully hard cock to Kurt's hole and holds it there, wiggling just an inch to wet it with his pre-come. The sound out of Kurt's mouth is unexplainable, wanton, and something that Blaine absolutely needs to hear again. Blaine rubs against Kurt's hole without inserting, and takes it away with no notice.

"Unff…" Kurt wants Blaine, he does. Kurt reaches for Blaine to hold and extends fully to rake his fingertips down the boy's chest and grab hold at his tiny hips. He digs his thumb and pointer fingers into the curves and squeezes, holding on for the ride.

"Do you like the tease, pretty boy?" Not patient enough for any response yet again, Blaine slips away from Kurt's grasp and inserts one finger into his hole dry and without warning. The sound of Kurt punching at the headboard is something Blaine needs to fix. Blaine exits and jumps up and off the bed, and begins his search for the lube that Kurt is bound to have here somewhere.

"Second drawer. _Please_." Kurt responds to the unanswered question in a moment of weakness, but then sits up against the headboard. He covers his face in his hands for a moment, "Blaine, wait." He looks up to the boy, ravishing through his drawer like life depends on it, throwing random shit over his shoulder.

Blaine looks at him and bites his lower lip at the sight before him. _Not again. _Kurt's eyes are fluttering between open and shut, his breathing is heavy and controlled, and his head is tilted in Blaine's general direction although he's not looking at him at all.

Kurt focuses back to Blaine, raking up his body from his toes, glaring up his calves to his knees and his thighs, gazing in wonder at his thick, beautiful cock. He lingers for a few seconds too long, before examining his abdomen, his pecs, and his nipples. He finally gets to his throat, the nape of his neck, his mouth. Their eyes meet for only a second before Kurt is looking to the corner of his bedroom.

"We absolutely cannot do this. You're _seventeen_. I'm _twenty-eight."_

Blaine scoffs and leans over the bedside table to rummage through Kurt's personal items again in the second drawer until he finds the bottle of lube and tosses it between his hands, like a juggling act with only one item. He turns back around to face Kurt and tilts his head slightly to the left.

"My birthday is in like three months, Kurt. By the time those assholes down at the precinct even start their fucking investigation, I'll be long gone _and_ eighteen."

There's a beat. Blaine straightens and takes Kurt's left hand in both of his own.

"Besides, I want to do this with you so you can finally see what I mean. I _like_ you, Kurt. I think you're smart and funny and gorgeous, and I know you think positively about me, too. I think that this is the start of something really awesome."

Kurt considers this then shakes his head. He pulls his hand back.

"No."

"What would we be doing right now if I lied to you and told you I was twenty? Twenty-five? What if I was twenty eight, Kurt? Would that make you stop?"

Kurt keeps his eyes low and submissive. He rubs aggressively at his eyes and shakes his head. He knows exactly what they would be doing right now if Blaine were twenty, or twenty-five, or his age. _But he's not_. He is seventeen years old, and he is a child who may have been corrupted by others already, but Kurt will not take advantage. He won't.

Blaine shrugs and goes back to the bedside table. "I won't tell anyone." He fumbles with the lube and forcefully repositions himself between Kurt's legs; this time Kurt spreads for him on his own without even trying and Blaine licks his lips, grinning evilly. Blaine grasps at Kurt's knees, pushing his legs up and over his shoulders, and he thinks he might die right here. Kurt's ankles lock around Blaine's neck, ready and willing to take whatever Blaine has to offer.

_This wouldn't be a terrible way to die. _

Blaine unsnaps the bottle and warms the lube effectively before thrusting two fingers in, desperately searching for the sweet spot. Blaine is an impatient, horny teenager.

"Oh my God… Blaine… _Yes_… Curve your… yes!" His hands are fisting at the comforter again, unsure what else he could do with them.

The boy arcs his fingers again and Kurt shutters and shakes, successful in brushing against the ball of nerves just left and forward to the typical path. Blaine's thrusting his fingers faster now in a rush to start the real fun.

There are suddenly three fingers curling and scissoring and before Kurt realizes, he's so, _so_ ready. Kurt's breaths are heavy but controlled, and Blaine rubs his tip against Kurt's hole in a brutal teasing fashion. "I still don't think this idea is the best… should we wai…you're almost… holy motherfucking shit, _Blaine_!" Blaine thrusts in one sprint of the hips, and he's bottomed out and stilled.

Kurt yelps at the intrusion. "Warn a guy!" Kurt's voice is lower than usual, sexier and raspier, like he just chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes for the hell of it. He instinctively grabs Blaine's hips harshly and pulls him just an inch closer. The movement has Kurt writhing and whimpering.

"Shut up." Blaine hasn't moved; he's waiting for the signal from Kurt to let him know it's okay. Kurt's eyes are snapped shut in pain, and his jaw is hanging open. He's panting now, and can feel Blaine waiting patiently for his go ahead. Eternity passes, and Blaine's cock twitches, not purposely, and Kurt is deteriorating underneath him.

Kurt moves Blaine's hips into a grind for him, "_Move_, baby. Fucking shit." And Blaine takes him for all he's worth. Kurt leads them in finding a rhythm that works for the both of them, but it's not quite enough. Kurt pulls and pushes with all of his might at an alarming speed. "Harder, Blaine. Go faster. Exert yourself, baby."

Kurt whines like a fucking whore at the full departure before screaming out when Blaine hooks his hands tightly to his hips, both of their forearms touching romantically, before punching his cock harder, deeper, faster, becoming one with what must be Kurt's intestines. Kurt is full and it hurts so good; he feels like he's free falling into a pool of quicksand and he doesn't even care. His body is releasing hormones that are necessary for his orgasm, any second now, and he deliberately clenches around Blaine to lead them to mutual bliss. Kurt pulls at Blaine to bend and lay on top of him so to change the angle to a much more pleasurable one. At the movement, Kurt's eyes roll to the back of his head and remain there as he meets each thrust of cock, drilling him deeper and more intense every single time. Kurt tugs Blaine's hair and pulls it back to gain full access to Blaine's Adam's apple with every swallow and catch of breath. It's the dirty kind of sex that Kurt's never known he needed, but he is aroused beyond belief at just the thought of being taken for all that he is, and by Blaine on _top_ – no pun intended – of that. Blaine is out of control now; he's an animal. He shifts back upright and intertwines his fingers with Kurt's, pushing all four hands up and over Kurt's head, slamming them into the headboard with a creak. Every. Single. Thrust. Each one gets harder and faster and deeper and Kurt's absolutely positive he'll be limping for a few more days than normal.

_Take it, take it all_  
_Take all that I have_  
_Take it, take it all_  
_Take all that I have_

Blaine's breathing hitches and his body stills, buried deep inside his twenty-eight-year-old lover. He loses all of his weight to Kurt's chest and he swallows his screams in a mouthwatering kiss, as he prepares to find himself and show Kurt what he's been missing all this time. Kurt takes one look at the pornographic image that is Blaine's head thrown back in pleasure and face flushed and sweaty, and Kurt's cock receiving the friction of Blaine's stomach hair, and pushes Blaine's hand downward, away from the headboard and nearest to Kurt's cock.

He leads the boy to wrap around his erection. Blaine pulls at him fast and hard, meeting the thrusts into his ass. He shoots his white stream of come like a confetti canon so soon onto Blaine's chest and all over his hand, with some even flying to his chin and neck, all the while locking eyes with this beautiful boy. Kurt is flushed, and catches Blaine's mouth in his to mumble sweet nothings into his soul. Seconds later, Blaine is growling and comes the hardest he could imagine into Kurt's ass. They both still, Kurt's cock still in Blaine's hand, panting and drenched in sweat, and Blaine goes soft inside of Kurt. On cue, he removes himself and releases Kurt from his hold.

_Holy shit._

_Holy shit._

Blaine rolls to his side and pulls Kurt closer around the stomach. Kurt feels the ooze and drip down the back of his thigh, but has absolutely no energy to be responsible and clean up. It's now that he realizes there was no condom used. He'll take the time to care later.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Death Cab For Cutie – I Will Possess Your Heart**  
**Alexz Johnson – Don't You Dare**

Blaine's still panting, still in his euphoric state of bliss, and everything is perfect in his world. He can count on one hand how many times he's thought that; he's ecstatic that one of them involves ramming Kurt into the man's mattress. He's lying sprawled out on his back with his leg tangled up in Kurt's and the springs of curls lining his face are damp with sweat, and Blaine Anderson is finally happy, and finally in a place where he belongs.

"Blaine?"

"You know," the boy says in lieu of a response, pushing himself to his side and introducing his palm to his temple to hold him up enough to look over at Kurt, "when I started calling you pretty boy, I meant it. I did. I still do. But now… God. You're literally the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on, Kurt, and the best part is that you have no idea. Look at you! I wish you could see yourself right now."

Kurt's only human; he blushes and allows a smile, "Blaine."

He's off on a tangent, "Like… when you were coming, I just… I had to stop everything that was happening and watch you. You're fucking beautiful, Kurt, and I don't know how else to say it. You leave me speechless… Your face, those sounds! Jesus, Kurt you had me on the verge of orgasm just by listening to you." Blaine blushes and touches the man's cheek with the back of his knuckle, "I… I could definitely get used to you, pretty boy." He says, with an actual smile.

"Blaine!" Kurt yells and jerks away at Blaine's opposite hand trailing up and down the side of his body. He scrambles out of bed and flings a dresser drawer open, aware enough not to bend at the waist to retrieve a pair of underwear; he can't allow Blaine to get more of a show than he's already seen. "Stop. Just, stop, okay? That… was not supposed to happen. You need to go. Oh fuck! I'm so sorry." He slides down the wall and buries his face in his hands.

The best sex he's ever had, and it comes from a person he can never be with again.

* * *

"Wait… what?"

Kurt appears pained to say it, but he's also determined, "Get. Out."

"Kurt…" Blaine isn't sure he's hearing Kurt correctly. Is he fucking kidding? The boy reaches out to touch Kurt anywhere he can get.

"Get the fuck out! OUT! Out, out..." Kurt drifts away into his own mantra of the one word he can say.

Blaine feels like he's on the verge of tears. He does not understand what he's done, and he's already longing for Kurt's kiss. He whispers, "I can't go home."

Kurt sighs and counts to ten before looking up at Blaine, beautiful, broken Blaine with nowhere to go. Kurt is not being sensible.

Blaine continues, "I'm an hour late for my curfew. He'll fucking kill me."

"And it's better if you don't go home at all." Kurt deadpans and looks to Blaine. He can't seem to believe that coming home late is worse than not coming home at all. Burt would have had a fit either way.

"He'll be too drunk later to remember I never did…" Blaine replies.

Kurt sighs, clearly losing the fight. "Fine." He twists to open a different dresser drawer and throws a pair of sweatpants to the boy. "Don't take these from me. They're my last remaining, since you stole the other ones." This should be flirting; it comes out cutting sharper than a knife.

Blaine nods once and pulls them on, making one move toward the bed.

"No way. Couch."

Blaine stares back at him dumbly. He's never done this before, but he's pretty confident that this is not how it's supposed to go only minutes after he's had his cock buried deep inside Kurt's ass. He turns on his heel and heads to the door. Something snaps him out of it, though, and he twirls back around to face the man. He yearns for romance, cuddling, watching Kurt's eyes reflect into the moonlight through the window.

"You can't fucking treat me like this, Kurt, after we just _had sex_. That actually meant something to me, you know! What the fuck is your problem? You couldn't have kicked me out before that?" Blaine is offended and can't seem to get it through to Kurt that his feelings are hurt.

"My problem is that I just _raped_ you, Blaine! Do you not get that? I am now a rapist, I'll never stop being a rapist, that word can always be used to describe me, and frankly, this is absolutely going to ruin both our fucking lives!" Kurt shoots up so he's towering over Blaine instead of the other way around. Kurt thrives only when he has everything under control, and although this is not that time, he at least appears to be in control with his thoughts and actions and reasoning.

"You didn't rape me, Kurt."

"Yes. I did."

"I wanted it! I really fucking wanted this! I want you." Blaine counters, still not seeing the issue. The age of consent is sixteen in Ohio; why doesn't Kurt understand that?

"You are seventeen. I am twenty-eight. It is statutory rape because you are so much younger than me. Surely, you must know that? Jesus, what the hell am I supposed to do now?"

_Oh my God, he doesn't know._ This means more than before. Kurt actually gave into Blaine, not caring that he was supposedly breaking the law, at least in the moment. Blaine decides to omit the truth. "The only thing I know right now is that you just took my virginity, and I'm pretty sure I can't ever get that back and when I try to cuddle with you after, you push me away like I have the plague." He throws up his arms, and they plummet down against his thighs. He's done. "Forget it. Fuck you, Kurt."

Kurt cringes with self-disgust at the thought of taking this kid's virginity like it was worth nothing at all.

Self-defense kicks in. "You just did."

Blaine groans. "_Kurt_."

He childishly stomps out and away to the living room, plopping down on the couch and curling in the fetal position, his face buried in the cushion where one's back belongs. He allows only one tear to fall before he's fading. He lies there, without any blankets, for hours. He cries and screams into the cushion to mute his sounds. Blaine feels so alone, directly after an act that should have brought someone straight to his heart. He's shaking but he can't tell if it's because he's still coming down from being so pissed off and hurt, or if he's just freezing. Finally, he sits up and stares into the darkness, seemingly reminiscing then making a plan to stick to. Shuffling through the black pit of Kurt's living room, Blaine can only bear to feel his way to the door of his bedroom. He pushes the door ajar shyly with only his knuckle, as if he makes sure to at least pretend he knocks.

* * *

Standing before him, a shattered little boy with nowhere to escape from his own wrath. Surely, he's been beating himself up for the past three hours, just like Kurt, together but separate in their identical thoughts. The boy just stands there, looking strikingly similar to how he must have looked when he was eight or nine.

Kurt feels like he's thrown straight into a terrible made-for-TV movie where he dies at the end of a broken heart.

The mattress sinks with Blaine's added weight not asking permission but just approaching. It is shifting when his head hits the shared pillow, heads inches away from each other, and he scurries his feet and body quickly under the single blanket. Blaine cuddles up next to Kurt's body, Kurt shocked at the ice-cold toes lying across the top of his feet. Blaine is a natural cuddler, finding the man's fingers and intertwining them with his own before pulling Kurt's arm up and over Blaine's waist, squeezing his fingers as a mute "goodnight."

They lay like this for one hundred and twenty seconds. Kurt counts.

"Blaine…" His voice cracks and as much as he wants to, he needs to push the boy away and out of his house. He indulges for just another minute, pulling the boy in and wrapping his arms around Blaine's back.

"Mmmm?"

"I'm going to call you a cab, okay? You have to go." He says it as gently as he knows how. He lets go of his hand and squirms out of the bed as quickly and as gracefully as birds sing at sunrise.

"No, pretty boy… please don't kick me out." Blaine's being… sweet.

"You've gotta go. Come on, baby. Get up." Kurt pokes at his side to move him. "I wish you could stay, but it's not appropriate. I'm so sorry."

"I won't tell anyone. I won't tell anyone at all, not even Santana." Blaine turns only his waist to look back at Kurt's wide blue eyes, scared shitless.

Blaine smirks, "Too soon? Sorry, pretty boy."

"_Especially_ not Santana." Kurt lets go of all the air in his lungs and he stands, pulling at Blaine's good arm. Blaine snatches his body part back into his comfort zone and plants his feet on the ground. He looks up at Kurt, seeming as though he might actually be inching toward cooperation. Blaine's eyes are wet with tears that aren't escaping and a sincere frown complete with creases around his mouth. Still resembling the little boy that he is, Kurt can sense his heart breaking in a thousand little pieces right before his eyes.

He regrets this moment of kicking a boy out on his ass after the best sex of his life to date.

Kurt stands over his bedside table to regain some composure before he undocks his phone and calls the local cab company. After some chatter with a man with broken English, he hits _end_ and looks to Blaine.

"Twenty minutes."

"I can't believe you're kicking me out. Why don't you believe that I'll never tell anyone if that's what you want?"

Kurt sits on the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes off of Blaine.

"Don't start, you know we can't do this again yet. And if you stay, we will. And as much as I want… you just can't stay, okay? I'm sorry. Now, do you want coffee or tea while you wait? You're freezing."

Blaine shrugs submissively and follows a lightning-fast Kurt to the kitchen. When he catches up, he finds Kurt hunched over the countertop staring at the wall with the teakettle heating up. The muscles in his back are moving underneath his skin with every flinch and tiny shiver and tap of the fingertip to the counter, and his legs that go on for _weeks_ are perfectly lean with the exact amount of hair peaking out from underneath his gym shorts that Blaine finds wildly attractive. No more, no less. The coarse hair on Kurt's legs is something unimaginably flawless.

Blaine shuffles at the doorway and looks around aimlessly. Kurt turns and stares at him, the flutter of turquoise causing Blaine to choke on nothing at all.

_As accurately fantasized, Kurt Hummel is as gorgeous sexed out as he is during normal business hours._

_As predicted, Blaine Anderson is beautiful post-sex. _

"I thought the afterglow of sex was supposed to feel almost as amazing as the sex itself."

"I didn't know you were a virgin… I'm really, really sorry."

"For what?"

"Taking your first time away from you… for being rude, for kicking you to the couch. For freaking out? For pushing you away now? For everything."

There's a beat.

Blaine shrugs.

"Do you regret it?"

Kurt turns again. The teakettle has saved the day.

"Well, I don't. That's kinda how everything else in my life turns out, though. No big deal. I'm not gonna tell anyone, Kurt. I wish you didn't regret this. Us."

Kurt stalks toward him and takes him by the shoulders, staring into the gorgeous shade of _browngreenhazelgold_. "You are going to find a wonderful partner one day, B, and they are going to love you for every incredible thing that you are, even your age. When you have sex with that man, it's going to feel like a brand new world. I promise you. You won't even remember what I look like."

Blaine's convinced Kurt is crazy if he thinks that he'll ever forget even the tiniest details traced within Kurt. He shakes his head furiously, desperate for Kurt not to continue. He doesn't need a new wonderful partner. He needs Kurt. He responds in the only way he knows how at this very moment. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and hits play before placing it on the counter next to the stove.

_How I wish you could see the potential_  
_The potential of you and me_

He wraps his arms around the older man's waist to pull him closer and kisses him fiercely, bruise-worthy and hard but with no tongue. He feels Kurt's breath hitch underneath his lips and Blaine takes it as a cue to pull back. He stares into his lover's eyes and guides his hands up and around his neck.

_It's like a book elegantly bound_  
_But in a language that you can't read just yet_

They swirl and swivel in circles around the dark kitchen. Kurt brings his head to Blaine's shoulder and hugs him tighter, granting access of the outside world by his single tear. Two hearts, beating as one for the remainder of the song that explains it all.

"Do you have cash for the cab?"

Blaine looks up into Kurt's eyes and tilts his head. He swallows and shakes his head no.

Kurt breaks away and disappears into his bedroom to grab some money and returns with a fresh twenty-dollar bill. He shoves it directly into Blaine's back pocket, fingers lingering hesitantly.

The seeping mugs of tea on the counter behind them remain unnoticed, forgotten like Kurt's previous hesitation. At least for the rest of tonight.

* * *

Blaine's a sneaky motherfucker, and he succeeds with the break-in to his own bedroom. He lies awake for the night's entirety. He'll deal with the feelings that are eating him alive tomorrow and he'll go and talk to Kurt, make sure they're okay. _Were we ever okay? Okay is such an obsolete feeling._

Kurt seemed put-together as he was leaving the man's apartment to catch the taxi. They awkwardly stood in front of each other for several painstaking seconds before Kurt nodded and kissed Blaine on the jaw.

"See you tomorrow, pretty boy." The next thing Blaine saw was the heavy door inches from his nose.

The cab ride home consisted of downloading then sending an MP3 of another song that explains it all straight to Kurt's inbox.

_I could say that I don't care_  
_But the truth is I'd follow you anywhere_  
_I'd been waiting such a long, long time_  
_Don't you dare change your mind_

_Look behind that door_  
_I'm the one you've been searching for_  
_And I'm not a little girl anymore_

_Don't wander around looking for someone to replace me_  
_Don't wander around wasting the rest of your life_  
_Don't wander around waiting for someone else to save you_  
_And don't you make the same mistake twice_

* * *

The bedroom door flies open and Blaine jumps up in defense.

"Where the fuck were you, boy?"

"Dad… what are you…?"

And each hard fist and swift kick leaves Blaine thinking only of Kurt and how worth this beating truly is.

* * *

Kurt, exhausted from a restless night, is a skittish mess. He watches his bedside clock intently until it's five in the morning, then sits up and begins preparing for his day. Thinking back to Blaine's last words before he slammed the door in his face, Kurt starts to hyperventilate. He crouches to the floor and sobs, unsure what his next action should be. He finds himself texting Julie to come grab the key from him on her way into work and then falling back on the bed. She does, and he waits an hour and a half before calling his father, figuring the sun should at least be raised before a favor is to be asked.

He's always had a huge problem lying to his father, but there are times when it is just necessary. This is definitely one of those times.

"Hey Kurt, what's going on?"

"Hey Dad… I need you to go help Jules with the shop, if you can?"

"Hmmm, sure. Where are you?"

"I'm…" he coughs for good measure, "I'm sick."

"Uh huh."

"Please, Dad? Go help her? I'll bet she is drowning in the morning rush and I couldn't possibly… infect… everyone."

"Alright. I'm bringing you soup after it dies down a little."

"See you later. Thank you Dad, love you!" Kurt hangs up before he gets any deeper into his disgusting, terrible lie.

* * *

**_Blaine: Pretty boy, where are you? This is the first time I've ever been here without you. It's weird. _**

**_Blaine: I hope you're not avoiding me._**

**_Blaine: We should talk?_**

**_Blaine: Who's the adult in this thing, Kurt?_**

* * *

The constant ring of the buzzer at his front door startles and provokes his body to jerk into a state of life. He climbs out of bed and wraps the quilt around himself and stumbles to the speaker. He hits "Listen" and holds his ear up to the contraption on the wall.

Blaine is talking to himself, pleading with a holy spirit (or something) that Kurt just opens the door. Kurt looks back over his shoulder at the clock on the wall: 9:30 in the morning.

Kurt aims to ignore Blaine, at least until he can wrap last night around his head completely and figure out what needs to be done. He knows, with Blaine's pull to Kurt's body, that if he lets the boy in, history will repeat itself. He can't have that. He knows it's shallow, selfish, really fucked up. He knows that he shouldn't treat Blaine like this, especially having been his first time. He can't bring himself to face the situation at hand, so he simply doesn't. He sits beneath the intercom and listens to the non-stop buzz for the next ten minutes before Blaine apparently gives up.

* * *

Aggravated and bruised yet again in the ribs, Blaine goes back into the Lima Bean, eyes searching for the girl always present in the mornings. He needs answers.

"Hey."

"Hi! How are you this morning, Bl-"

"Where's Kurt?"

"Who are you?" A burly older man with familiar turquoise eyes appears, stepping up behind the girl at the cash register and folding his arms across his chest, probably to appear more intimidating than he already is.

"Uhh? Who the fuck are you, old man?" _Fuck, this guy is a huge asshole._

The man raises his eyebrow. "Kurt's father, boy. Who the hell are you?"

Blaine's eyes go wide and his breath stops. He backs away subconsciously and shifts his eyes to the ground. His mouth mimics an "O" and he blinks rapidly, trying to find his composure.

"I didn't mean… I'm Blaine. Kurt's… he's a friend of mine." The words escape as a whisper; Blaine is appalled by his own behavior.

"Oh! You're Blaine… huh."

"You've heard of me?"

Burt stares at Blaine. There is something Blaine wants to hide from the world, and although he doesn't know what it is, he would know the kid is fucked up with or without the conversation he had a few weeks ago with Kurt. Things start to fit into place, and Burt knows exactly what's going on – Kurt is avoiding Blaine. "Why" is the question and he'll have to get the answer out of one or both of them.

"I've heard enough about you to know what Kurt thinks."

Blaine stares back at Burt, wide-eyed and bushy tail between his legs. His neck is craned at a tight angle to look to the man's face, his body towering over petite little Blaine. Kurt's dad is fucking scary.

"Um, okay. I wish he'd share those sentiments with me, sir. But umm, do you think I could maybe have a Medium Drip and also a croissant… please?"

"$5.64. Your total." Burt rings it in and looks to the boy expectedly.

"Oh. I haven't..." He looks at Julie for help. "I haven't paid for awhi-" He cuts himself off and buries his hand in his pocket and hands Kurt's dad (_Kurt's father_!) some cash. The conversation throws him off guard, not only because he's interacting with the man who _made_ Kurt, but he's also paying for something at the Lima Bean for the first time in many, many moons. He moves down and waits for the girl to pour his coffee and retrieve his breakfast. Everything feels off without Kurt running the coffee shop at his own pace. There's a bizarre murkiness to the environment that's usually perky and light-hearted. Blaine quickly retreats to his table with the Carrie Underwood lyrics and breaks apart his pastry.

He munches away and finds himself attentive to his posture, the way he's carrying himself when he rises to use the rest room, and even the way he's crossing his ankles on the empty chair in front of him. He's careful not to reveal the biggest mistake of his past year to Kurt's dad because that would be a fucking disaster. Blaine allows his mind to wander, as it usually does at the Lima Bean. He prides himself on the desire to make an effort with Kurt, and establishes his determination in actively exhibiting exactly how polite Blaine Anderson could be. In his Dalton days, he pleased all the parents and was the one among his friends to convince the grown-ups that they were good kids who never experimented with the questionable teenage phases.

He takes a sip of his coffee and sets it back down on the table, channeling his inner prep school boy. He plunges his head back into a place of old money and neckties and dry-cleaned-only. He forces his brain into large vocabulary and swallows into an octave higher when speaking with over-pronounced syllables. He's transformed into what parents want to see in their kid's significant other.

_Fuck it._ Kurt's dad was an asshole to him first. Blaine is weary of changing for anyone and it's definitely not going to be some dick who thinks he's in charge just because his son owns the place. Fuck that.

Burt is watching him intently, burning fire through Blaine's skull with just his eyes. His familiar, soft eyes have turned angry and disgusted. _Maybe Kurt didn't tell his father about the age difference?_ It's clear that Blaine is younger than Kurt by several excruciating years.

"Mister Hummel?"

Kurt's dad stares on as a response. It's a bland response, but at least there's acknowledgement at all.

"Fuck. Nevermind, man."

"Out with it. I already don't like you for getting involved with my son. Prove me wrong, Blaine."

"What the fuck does it matter to you?" Blaine approaches the counter again with fisted hands plastered to his hips and an ugly scowl overtaking his lips.

"He's fragile and it is my job to take care of him." The older man scowls right back.

"He is nearly thirty. Pretty sure he doesn't need his overprotective daddy looking after him. He can do whatever and whoever he wants." Blaine's waiting to get the reaction he needs out of Burt, as if his father and Kurt's father are the same person.

"Exactly! He is nearly thirty. You are not even out of high school yet, are you?" Burt screams publicly, attracting the clientele to quiet and look over, intently paying attention to the argument.

Blaine waves them off, trying to intimidate them all by stepping quickly like he's about to pounce. "You know what? Fuck you. Tell lover boy I said thanks for last night."

"I will not! He is to not go near you again."

Blaine takes a deep breath. He's red in the face and hyperventilating. He needs to calm down before he says what he's about to. He steps closer to the cash register.

"Look. Mister Hummel, I don't know the details of what happened to Kurt's brother or whatever, but I know that you are trying to keep him close so that nothing happens to him, either." He knows he's hit the nail on the head when Kurt's father unexpectedly begins to tear up behind his eyes. He wipes furiously away at the moisture and stares back to the boy.

Blaine continues.

"And I assume that you understand that I don't really have a father figure in my life and I apparently don't know how to react in the presence of someone else's. So I'm sorry. But I am not sorry for getting involved with Kurt. He's kinda the best thing that ever happened to me and I… We're not even sure… I mean, this is all very new for the both of us, and I really don't know what to say about it all besides that I'm sorry we got off like that. I didn't mean to yell at you, I just… I really like him and I get really offended when everyone's telling me it's wrong, him included."

"It's okay. Your ass should go into psychology or something."

Blaine can't help but giggle softly.

Burt half-smiles and looks back to his son's… um, lover?

"Why don't we go sit down and talk? I trust my son's judgment, and if he sees something in you, it must be worth it."

"Sure thing, sir, ask me anything." They turn to walk back to the table Blaine's been occupying and sit down.

And so he does. He asks him _everything_. The only event Blaine leaves out of his overall life story to Burt is the sex with his son. By the end of the nearly two-hour conversation, Burt knows enough about Blaine and his family situation to provide an honest opinion of the boy, and his verdict is that it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to hate this boy than it was at nine-thirty this morning.

* * *

**_Blaine: I just met your dad. He is amazing, Kurt._**  
**_Blaine: We might have gotten off on the wrong foot… you know me and people telling me I'm not right for you… but it ended nice._**  
**_Blaine: I shouldn't be so surprised, obviously he's amazing. He's your dad. _**  
**_Blaine: Please call me, pretty boy. I miss you and we really should talk about everything._**  
**_Blaine: I understand if you just want to be friends or whatever, but we need to get on the same page about this. Please don't avoid me for too long._**  
**_Blaine: I actually sorta miss you? Is that weird to say?_**  
**_Blaine: Whatever. I miss you._**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Song used in this chapter: Kankouran – Rivers**

Kurt is watching the unlikely pair across the room with obsessive eyes. He still thinks it's weird that they know each other, that they are regulated by law to talk so often and he's completely wrecked with nerves that either of them will spill his darkest secrets to the other. They both have so much slack to ruin his life. But they wouldn't, would they?

The week before last was probably one of Kurt's most difficult to date; he still hasn't a clue how he got through it to begin with. He's still anxious and tense around Blaine but he's slowly regaining his normalcy. He continues to get embarrassingly aroused around the boy, and participates in at least three cold showers per day. He still feels like he's going to burst at the thought of Blaine's… body parts, but he's getting better. They haven't talked about it; about what happened weeks ago now. Kurt has finally started the grueling process of trying to forgive himself for what he took from Blaine.

Pursuing Blaine further than that one time would be ludicrous. He knows it, but he can't stop wanting him, and it's more than just the sex. He feels as though Blaine really understands him in everything except for this. They were truly becoming friends.

One slip of judgment and this is the predicament they're in. The one time weeks ago was a moment uncontrolled, and although Kurt recently only seems to want… _need_ Blaine more and more every time he looks at him, the reasoning why it can't happen remains the same. He just can't. He refuses to burst.

His mind wanders a bit, but he forces it back into professionalism since he's helping Julie now, by removing all of the food items from the glass window so they can attack the area with cleaning supplies. It's a down time, as per usual during this time of day, and they know they can finish this long overdue and wildly procrastinated upon project before the afternoon rush. Only Santana and Blaine are here, and they won't mind the smell of Lemon Fresh and the constant slam of sliding door to glass displays for probably an hour.

Then Blaine laughs loudly at something Santana just said, and as quickly as Kurt started his chores around the shop, he stops abruptly and prepares to deliver a special gift to his _friends_. Well, to his friend and the guy he shouldn't be obsessed with but still is.

Kurt starts to pour the medium drips, stirring the perfect amount of each ingredient until the maple-tinted brown is as perfect as Blaine's glistening eyes during the one orgasm Kurt's seen in person.

Kurt hears the beginning chords of Death Cab for Cuties' "I Will Possess Your Heart" playing on the overhead speakers in the shop and shoots his turquoise balls of Caribbean Sea toward Blaine. He's caught. He tries to stay nonchalant, because it is a coincidence after all, but of course Blaine has a sixth sense/curse when it comes to Kurt and he's already up and approaching him by the time their eyes meet. Kurt throws the once-clean paper towel into the trash nearby and wipes his hands on his apron, all without leaving Blaine's eye contact.

"So weird how this song of all songs is now on your playlist, _pretty boy._" He's bent in half over the counter to get closer to Kurt's body, wiggling his ass, raising an eyebrow as he fights with his toes to stretch just a little more. "Remember when this very song was basically my proclamation of love via kitchen dancing in the middle of the night? That happened when I had nothing else to say because you were kicking me out and I just wanted to let you know how I felt? How I feel? I'm onto you, Sir Mix A Lot."

Kurt can't help but think about the conversation the two of them had post-sex. Blaine truly meant it when he called him "pretty boy." It drives Kurt crazy that Blaine continues to call him that glorious pet name, among other things.

"Maybe you just never noticed it before." Kurt says, with a flirty smile. He watches Blaine's hips rock back and forth and blinks the memory out of his head as quickly as it appeared into focus.

On cue, his cock grows to a half-hard status and Kurt's trying to hide it with a simple jerk to his own hips to attempt an adjustment sans hands.

"I notice _everything_." Blaine's eyes flicker down to the stretched area of Kurt's tight package. There's a beat and Kurt sighs, defeated and under arrest in Blaine's gaze. The boy looks back to the man. This look is definitely an invitation.

"Go hang out with your parole officer, B." Kurt goes back to his work, stirring the coffees until they're perfect. When they're finished, he hesitates just for a second, wondering if he could actually be a friend to the boy he can't get his mind off of.

Spinning and going, Blaine laughs a melodic ballad all the way back to the table, greeting Santana again. She has her finger on her eyebrow, pushing it up dramatically with a bitch face plastered. Blaine laughs louder, looks over to Kurt, and winks. He's in good spirits; Kurt can only resist him for a little bit longer.

Santana stares at him, obviously rolling her eyes for the world to see, and jumps back into the challenge of convincing the boy to go back to school.

"You're fucking him."

"Ummm… what?"

"You're fucking him and you can't deny it. I was around every time he had that goofy damn look on his face. You're fucking him."

"Ummm, okay. Santana, you're crazy. So McKinley? Anything but Dalton?" Blaine tries to change the subject, shuffling through brochures of three different schools including McKinley, because he really wants to keep his promise to Kurt that he won't tell.

Santana sighs and takes the bait, "So, McKinley is where me and Kurt went, and honestly I haven't been there in a few years but I can tell you that it was kind of decent, you know, for high school."

"If I go, would that get you off my back?"

"Yes! But only about school. We are having the Kurt conversation."

He ignores her interest, "My parents will never sign the admission form for public school. My dad, in particular, can't wait to watch me fail." He looks back over to Kurt, who's still watching them while waiting for espresso shots to drop. He needs something stronger than just coffee, apparently.

"They don't have to sign shit. I'll make it happen. All you have to do is get yourself there enough to make sure they don't fail you for skipping."

Blaine laughs from his belly, looking back to Santana. "You're the worst parole officer there is. Honestly, you're sitting here telling a mini-convict such as myself that I just have to be at school enough for them to notice that I'm there."

"Wow, why couldn't you make shit happen for me?" Kurt is balancing a triangle of three Lima Bean coffee cups and places them effortlessly in the middle of the table then sits and crosses his legs, sitting tall and proud.

"Because you weren't a delinquent with nowhere to go but up." Blaine smiles and takes a sip. "Me, rock bottom. You, superstar."

"I am not a superstar. What are you going to make happen, San?"

Santana sits quietly, examining the body language between Kurt and Blaine, coming to conclusions of her own. She blinks several times, slowly and with purpose further than rewetting her eyeballs. She's sending a message; it's Morse code. It's "you fucking idiot" straight to Kurt, his heart, and his brain.

The boys look at each other and shrug, Blaine blushing because he knows he has given up the unrevealed by pretending to be oblivious to Santana's constant badgering. He's usually so good at keeping secrets and feels ashamed that he let this one go. They've shared this same look for weeks, but Santana finally understands and she has it written all over her face. To flame the fire, Blaine leans in to whisper a secret to Kurt, and Kurt covers his mouth, embarrassed, and looks at the boy through his eyelashes. Kurt shifts the chair six inches away from Blaine.

"You what! Blaine! Inappropriate." Kurt's blush is uncontrollable, and he makes a point to look far, far away from one of his oldest friends studying him as if she even needs to without understanding exactly what's going on.

"Inappropriate like the time I locked your ankles around my throat and rammed my co-"

Santana jumps up, "You little assholes! What the fuck!"

Kurt glares at Blaine. He told Kurt he wouldn't tell a soul and here he is, cute as ever, blabbing away their illegal sexcapades.

Kurt leaves Blaine there to deal with the wrath of Santana. He lifts his body to his feet and winks to Jules, their unspoken agreement that he needs an escape. He sprints out the door and into the next one over, up the stairs and directly to the bathroom. He strips, throwing his clothes wherever they land, and turns the cold shower on full blast. He stands under the stream for upwards of a half hour, washing away any indecency and wanton thoughts of raping the poor boy _again_.

* * *

He's restless; he truly doesn't know how to handle this anymore. The daily freezing downpour of shower water forces over his head, warning him with every drop how horrid each of his thoughts are. He focuses on his work and not on his heart; he focuses on his life, just nothing to do with Blaine. This is exactly the perfect time to feel alone, no matter how many people surround him every day. If he has to constrain himself into abstinence until he's over everything having to do with Blaine, then fine. Or maybe he'll go fuck everything with a dick. That could work too. He's never been into one night stands (yearning too much for emotion) but he makes it a point to remind himself to ask Santana if she wants to go to the gay bar across town, Scandals, at some point soon, as long as she promises not to bring up his series of unfortunate events with Blaine. Speaking of, he would invite the boy, but he's four entire years away from being able to order a drink, plus the whole purpose of dancing and fucking the night away is to get rid of the rigid thoughts of him in the first place.

Kurt returns after about an hour of trying to forget about Blaine in the most self-torturous way, and moves swiftly to his employee. Julie is still there and scrubbing away for the sake of an A+ surprise health inspection. Kurt will appreciate her later; right now, he can't risk loitering in the front area of the shop for as long as would be required to praise her. He smiles shortly at Julie; she's such a dedicated worker. He ignores Santana's catcalls and Blaine's melodic laugh. He ignores the following comfortable silence between his friend and her juvenile convict she's paid a state salary to babysit while he reads through what looks like a McKinley course catalog. Kurt has paperwork and avoiding and sulking to do, so he ignores all of this and rushes to the back.

**_Blaine: Oh come on, pretty boy. Don't be like that. She figured it out all by herself._**  
_Kurt: I asked you to do one thing, Blaine. One thing!_  
**_Blaine: It's not a big deal. _**  
_Kurt: Leave me alone. Clearly, you know nothing about Santana. She will never let this go._

Julie is in his face now, asking for his help with a return of a muffin that's already been bitten into a few times, and he rises to explain to his apparently ungrateful bastard of a customer that food items are never interchangeable, especially after a sample has been _eaten_. He's complaining to his favorite employee about how the human race just wants something for nothing all the live long day, and that all these Lima losers can do nothing to faze him anymore, but freezes in the doorway at the sight of two cops waiting impatiently at the cash register with the ugliest scowls on their faces.

He glances to Blaine, who's staring fixedly at the two uniformed men. The boy's mouth twitches upward and shifts his eyes from Kurt back to the cops. Kurt's sure Blaine knows exactly what he's thinking and vice versa.

A glass bottle of nerves ready to shatter, Kurt approaches the register and swallows audibly while looking up into the undoubtedly threatening officer, demanding a refund.

Kurt feels like he is about two feet tall. He has an unusual closed-off demeanor standing in front of the police officers, shaking from hysteria and convinced that they will figure him out and take him downtown for questioning pertaining to a statutory rape. Kurt's eyes are shifting to each exit, as if he'd be able to make a run for it should he have to, and the sweat bleeding out of his forehead rolls down to his jaw before he wipes at it. He's rustling his fingers, allowing one hand to fight the other, and his deep and expressive eyes are still not meeting either of the men's.

He is half-listening to the public servant blather about how he could have, in theory, been allergic to blueberries and it would have been a travesty if a cop died at a local coffee shop in Western Ohio because he was handed a berry-flavored muffin instead of a chocolate chip one by a teenager getting paid minimum wage. The man's words blur together almost inaudibly due to the ocean rushing in and out of Kurt's ears. Kurt is nodding submissively, trying to understand what the dipshit with a gun and handcuffs strapped to his waist is saying. At some point, he hears himself agreeing with the cop but then decides to bite his tongue for several reasons – mainly the fact that he might get arrested for either a nervous, overly snarky remark or sex with a minor, and also because this irate asshole has a weapon and he most definitely does not want to die because of a muffin. That'd be way too depressing for the experiences Kurt's had thus far.

He's well aware of Blaine's eyes repositioning, terrified of what's destined to happen next. The premise or topic of the conversation must not be clear out of earshot, and Kurt's positive Blaine thinks he may have a problem. Kurt feels bad for Blaine; by the look on his _gorgeoussexybabyhot_ face, he must feel as guilty as Kurt does for the situation they're in, and for the cops breathing down his neck at this very second. Blaine probably can't take it anymore; he stands and gets in line so he's able to eavesdrop on what's going on.

Blaine wishes he could get revenge on cops everywhere for what they ignored when he was a kid, all of the drinking and domestic violence and abuse that was certainly called in several times a month in elementary school, and the captains and judges looking the other way to remain on the almighty Christian Anderson's good side in the court room.

Blaine's mind drifts out of protective mode and into pure admiration. Even when he's scared shitless, Kurt is undeniably ravishing. His bright blue eyes nearly blind him as he burns a hole into Blaine's chest, a plea to be rescued. His eyes quickly dart away from Blaine and back in the general direction of the cops. His bunny hill nose scrunches into wrinkles and his mouth is worried, dimples denting his cheeks. Kurt Hummel is scared, and Blaine wants to save him.

Blaine wishes he could get revenge on the cops in Lima for punishing him in ways they can't even fathom. Blaine also wants revenge because they're terrifying the love of his life back into the shell Blaine never realized Kurt even had.

_Wait, love of my life? What the fuck?_

So his feet move him until he's standing behind the two cops badgering Kurt about his return policy and sidesteps until he has a clear view of Kurt's elegance between the gap of two sweaty, oversized bodies. He keeps his eyes locked on the man to soundlessly convey that he's there with him and to calm the hell down because he's being really fucking suspicious right now, although there's nothing they can actually do. Kurt wipes at his sweat again and nods ever so slightly. Blaine hopes it was a movement for only him to see.

The exchange seems to work; Kurt sees him and stands straighter, exuding all the confidence he can right now. He hands the men brand new pastries as a consolation prize and rounds up, forking over a five dollar bill and apologizing profusely and waving Julie's disagreements off, and they loudly disappear, satisfied that they proved to one another that they truly can walk all over anyone in this town, and everyone is going to take it with little-to-no thought. Kurt releases his breath and slouches back into himself. Blaine shuffles forward to lean against the counter and peers through long and luscious eyelashes. There is no one in this coffee shop, building, town, _world_ other than Kurt.

Kurt's panting, trying to catch his normally paced breath, and looks at Blaine for help. It's a silent plea to talk him through the mini-panic attack. It's Blaine's job to save him.

"You're fine, Kurt. Calm down." Blaine goes to reach for his wrist.

Kurt's voice stays even; the cops are still an earshot away, cackling loudly because they can do what they want when they want with no consequence.

"Don't." His eyes bore into Blaine's with distaste and what seems to be pure hate. He's actually scowling down at the boy.

Kurt disappears into the back room again, and when Blaine turns around, Santana's also nowhere to be found. There's nothing he wants more than to fix the self-hatred inside; Blaine knows that Kurt needs to separate the internal battle.

He is sick and tired of the numbing temperature of Kurt's heart and the blatant mood swings. He's bothered by the attention he's not getting from Kurt, and he doesn't know why he still wants to fix things between them. He takes a bottle of water out of the case.

He casually follows the man to the back room and leans against the doorframe. He extends the water to offer it to Kurt. It's a simple gesture, Blaine knows, but something big enough to show that he cares.

"You're making the tension between us really fucking obvious, Kurt, to everyone with eyes."

"Are you kidding? Santana had no damn clue what went on between us until you _obviously_ told her!" He jolts out of his chair and approaches the boy, then flings his arms up, giving up. Kurt should be a lot more mad, but can't find the emotion right now after the run-in with the asshole cops who would have gladly taken him downtown with one mention of Blaine's (sexy, adorable, heavenly) thrusts into him far, deep, and wide. He sits back down and crosses his legs to hide his cock, hard and uncomfortable for only the thousandth time today since Blaine showed his face.

"I told you. That's not-"

Kurt cuts him off; Blaine is not being sexy or adorable or heavenly right now, he's being a fucking asshole.

"The cops… I thought they were going to see right through me and find out all about us, Blaine."

Blaine stares at him. He has no words, not even an apology. He could never apologize for something that he enjoyed so much, something he wants again as soon as Kurt's ready and for as forever as possible. He does what he knows best.

"You really regret this, don't you?"

The silence is enough for Blaine to gather Kurt's true sentiment on the matter. They lock eyes for a second and turn away. Blaine channels his inner confidence that is completely fake and made up, but will work well for a light joke.

"For starters, Santana asked me if we were having sex earlier. Like before I slipped up. Well, I've never been arrested for sex before, but I can say that being arrested isn't really as bad as everyone thinks. You know, when they had me in handcuffs, I almost got turned on. The inability to move, while some powerful old man such as yourself does his way with me…" He's smiling, the punch line on the tip of his tongue.

"I don't want to know you anymore." Kurt feels his lips with his pointer and index fingers. "It's too dangerous. You are no longer welcome here."

Blaine's breath catches. They stare at each other; like it's the last time they'll see that face. Blaine's expression is devastation; Kurt's is on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Santana slams the bathroom door open with her knee and her hands are still wet.

"You're out of paper towels. Why the fuck are you freaking out, Lady Hummel?"

"Don't. Call him that." Before Blaine can stop it, he's defending Kurt.

"Okay… Sit down, boys." Santana jumps up so she's sitting on a pile of invoices from whatever vendor Kurt has scheduled for the next morning. Blaine looks at Kurt, who's pointedly fascinated with the wall.

"Look. As gross and disgusting as it is to picture Kurt here all up in this delinquent mess, ravishing his little bunghole, it's fine."

"What the fuck Santana! And it's not fine! I am," Kurt strains his neck to see out to the main floor of the Lima Bean. The cops have left the building, "I'm a fucking rapist." He whispers.

"You're not… Kurt. It's fine, Blaine's seventeen. Just live on the edge a little! I can't say what I really feel because he's a client of mine. But… why don't you just…" She shrugs, "have a good time?" She's laughing, she can't help herself. She knows this is absolutely fucking killing Kurt, for no reason at that.

"Living on the edge is taking the long way home, or going skydiving. Not fucking an innocent boy who, as we all know at this point, continues to be God damned infatuated with me and can't shake me if his life fucking depended on it!" His outburst is a little loud.

Blaine makes eye contact with Julie, whose eyes shine, shocked and scared of both the outburst and the words within.

"Guilty as charged." Blaine shrugs and continues. "I don't want to forget about you, Kurt. I just want to…" Blaine sighs. He doesn't have the energy to come up with anything crude enough to keep up his reputation. "I just want to give us a try."

Blaine sits Indian style on the floor. He's chewing over how he should elaborate in this moment; he's heartbroken and really pissed off and that is the combination of death. Whatever he says further, he'll regret. So he says nothing with his words, but everything with his eyes. He glances back to Kurt, who's shaking with rage, and tilts his head in an apology. The heart eyes have since gotten out of control, but he's finished with hiding them now.

Golden as the Gate Bridge, Blaine's eyes are flickering in the artificial light above their heads. He's trying to carry a wordless conversation and failing as miserably as his heart. He grunts and falls backwards as Kurt rolls his eyes, refusing to give up his front but understanding the capacity of the apology. Blaine Anderson usually doesn't say he's sorry, unless he really means it, even when he doesn't know what he's sorry for. Staring at the fan above him, watching each plane swirl in a dizzy frenzy, Blaine sighs.

_Breathe in_  
_Breathe out_  
_Breathe in _  
_Breathe out_

"You assholes are meant for each other, I think. You feed off the dramatics. And the fucking unspoken, little exchanges? Those are what make me want to puke the most."

"We are never going to be together. It was one meaningless time." Kurt's practiced line is sure to convince everyone involved in this stupid, pointless conversation of nothing.

"Ouch." Blaine holds his heart, mostly to mock Kurt's lame refusal and what he could have.

"Besides, it's illegal. Even if we did want it. Which I don't. I don't want it." He's shaking, tears seconds away from breaking the dam.

"It's not illegal." Santana mutters, mainly for herself. She looks to Kurt who is too wrapped up in his quote-unquote wrong doings that he doesn't seem to hear her.

Blaine jolts back into a sitting position at Kurt's fake confession. "Kurt. Really? I want you so bad, and it's more than just sex. I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you, that very first day. Why do you refuse to give me a chance?" He's standing now, between Kurt's legs with a tilted head and his heart on his sleeve.

There is silence. Santana's waiting to see if they'll kiss, but Blaine is pulling himself away and back to the door's frame.

"Guys... you know this is all. Um..." Santana shakes her head and hops off his desk, sending a pile of papers to shuffle to the floor.

Blaine jumps at the unexpected shower of invoices, gathering as many as he can and straightening the papers into a neat pile. He absently welcomes the task; he feels like he's about to cry.

"Aww, Kurt. You hurt Blainers' feelings!" Santana's getting a kick out of this combination of words.

"We've talked about all of this already. There's no reason for him to be upset." Kurt counters, unexplainably taking the pile from Blaine and placing it back next to his laptop on his desk.

"No we haven't." _We haven't talked about this. You kicked me out after you took my virginity._

"You need to move on."

"_Kurt." _It's the only word in Blaine's vocabulary.

"And that's my cue, boys. Look, don't let go of something that could be awesome because of something as trivial as an age difference."

"I'm seventeen! This is all fine."

It's then that they have a full-blown staring contest. Santana's turning her head back and forth between the two of them; naturally, she's playing the judge, but having more fun than she's had in weeks. And that includes the random tourist chick on her way home from Cedar Point who stopped at Scandals last Wednesday.

"I think right now, you should go. I need to talk with Santana… alone. We'll talk later?"

"You promise?"

Kurt stares at him. He can't promise a thing.

Blaine sighs and backs out of the room obediently, only out of his apparent love for Kurt, and his desire for everyone in this immediate room to be happy. He disappears and Kurt is still watching the door he left out of seconds ago. He turns to Santana in slow motion and lets it all out. Santana's there for him, she is, but only to a certain extent because she's never been in this situation. And it's nice to see Kurt Hummel squirm out of control for once.

She feels bad for about five seconds. She's not sure if Kurt is freaking out because he thinks the act of sex between the two is illegal, or if the eleven years makes the entire situation uncomfortable. She knows, having been involved with the court as a career, that sixteen is the legal age of consent in Ohio. She doesn't know, however, why she doesn't make this clear to Kurt. She chalks it up as finding a secret thrill in watching Kurt feel out of control for the first time since Finn.

* * *

Two more weeks pass, and Kurt still feels broken and alone in a sea of a rotating door leading to a coffee shop. He doesn't have many friends, but he seems to know a lot of people only because of the Lima Bean and the business it brings to Main Street. During his trips to the bank for change, he interacts with the tellers, calling them by their first names and making sure their families are in good physical and mental health. He has a routine of grocery shopping for his own meals, and knows the cashier there and her dreams to go to Los Angeles for Film School. The postman that drops off his mail every day has a yellow lab that's not really doing so well lately; they may need to put her down.

Kurt's friendly; he is a positive reinforcement to this small town of Lima, Ohio, population thirty-eight thousand and change. He's not sure if he knows every one of those thirty-eight thousand, but he's eager to know if they know of him, owner of the only coffee shop that's not a major chain headquartered in Seattle. They've got to, right?

As far as his one-time affair with Blaine Anderson, well, they never get around to that talk. He's still inadvertently picturing Blaine naked and bent over the countertop in his kitchen, in the Lima Bean, or over the table at the library (somewhere he's never even been with Blaine).

Their interactions are mainly unspoken, almost like before the incident, complete with the full shyness of getting to know each other. It's during these silent conversations and gazing that Kurt realizes he doesn't know much about Blaine at all.

But he continues to fantasize about him, and that part is really annoying. He is a grown man; he should not be having dreams about a teenager, but he is and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

Usually, Kurt's dreams come out of absolutely nowhere, him following Blaine out of a cave, or suddenly dropping into an open field of lilac. The scenery is never familiar and it's always a little hard to breathe, like they're trapped in a room-for-two dish soap bubble where they can enjoy each other before it bursts.

* * *

_Blaine is licking at his neck, and then sucks down to mark him with his mouth. Kurt's hands are tangled in Blaine's curls and he whines for more._

"Please, baby."

_The younger boy gets the hint and starts to trail down the plateau of his abdominal ridges and curves, licking and swirling around his belly button. He thrusts his tongue inside, and why does that feel so fucking good? Blaine's determined to get him off on just the touch of his tongue, and Kurt's pretty sure it's going to happen with just that. The boy stops abruptly and creeps back up to Kurt's mouth. _

_"Is this okay, pretty boy?"_

_"I can't be without you anymore. Come on, Blaine."_

_Blaine leaps lower and grins into his pubic hair, kissing down the shaft of Kurt's cock. He sinks his mouth over just the tip of Kurt's already-slick head and sucks like it's a straw and the ice cube is stuck at the bottom._

_"Jesus fuck!" _

_Blaine swallows Kurt's cock all the way down, curving and relaxing his throat so he doesn't gag. He holds it there for seconds, hollows out his cheeks, and hums. His eyes flutter to the back of his head, and Kurt finally gets the chance to glance down at the boy. It's just like the banana incident of the summer, except there are no cracks or creases in his very painful cock, although it feels like it might just snap right off from being too hard for too long. He resists coming; he never wants this to end. There's a low growl coming from Kurt's throat and Blaine backs off until he only has Kurt's head trapped between his lips. His tongue swirls at the slit with hardly any movement, and this could absolutely kill Kurt. Blaine comes off with a pop. He opens and shuts his jaw wide to stretch it, then sinks back down. _

_Within seconds, Kurt's hands are pulling Blaine's hair so hard, he's surprised the poor boy isn't bald yet. He's whimpering at the warm, wet, sensitive, and suddenly screams out as his orgasm overtakes every fiber of his being. He slumps into the mattress and arches his back to the point of exorcism. The load shoots down Blaine's throat and he's swallowing all around him to keep it clean. When Blaine comes off of his cock and twists to lie near him, Kurt is still shooting and there is a puddle where Blaine's lower abs meet his belly button. _

_Blaine plays with the come on his stomach, swirling it around then drawing a K within the artwork. _

_He turns and flips so he's being supported by just his elbow facing Kurt, his hand finding his own cock. Kurt side eyes him and finds Blaine's hand and helps him along into a quick and easy orgasm. Blaine falls easily half onto Kurt's body and he aims his cock toward Kurt's chest and the moaning ensues. Blaine marks him so hard, and they lie there panting. Blaine switches positions so he's on his stomach with his chin lying on the pillow staring at Kurt, still coming down from his orgasm so many minutes ago. _

_Blaine inches his way up and lies completely over and intertwined with Kurt's body and look into his eyes._

_"Hi."_

_"Hey, beautiful."_

* * *

Kurt feels like he was dropped onto the bed from the heavens above. He seizes in bed and wakes with a start. Sweaty and wet in his underwear, he groans and shuffles to the bathroom. It's already four-forty-five. He has to get ready for a full day of brewing coffee and writing names on cardboard cups with sharpies. His brain is telling him to think about what just happened in his unconscious state. His heart refuses to let him discuss it with himself. He'll figure it all out later.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_Author's Note: Hey guys! Happy New Year. Thanks so much for all of the crazy reviews and subscriptions you've been giving me on here… it means the world. Let it be known that I've started writing the sequel, thanks to a few crazies convincing me to do so. Not sure if I'll ever post it, but at least some of it is written for the sake of my own practice? Who even knows what I'm saying. Anyway! I hope you guys are all warm where you are… freezing in New York, and keep reviewing and sharing and following me on Tumblr! I love to hear from you guys because all of you are so awesome. So… enjoy and don't hate me too much? xx_

_September_

"What's a pretty little boy like you doing in here?"

Blaine squints at the drunken man standing to support the cinderblocks adjacent to his seat on the cement slab that could double as a bed. It's funny; Blaine hadn't noticed the man for the past hour and a half in this 8x8 square of a room off the side of the 39th precinct of Ohio. Blaine rises and paces, throwing a hand through his hair in distress.

"Leave me the fuck alone, old man."

The fellow prisoner is probably in his late forties, with matted hair and missing teeth. He laughs, with a grin that's uncharacteristic of the rest of the scenery.

"Oh shit, boys. We've got a tough guy." The man is nearing Blaine's comfort zone and suddenly he's only inches away. The tequila on his breath is strong, but the fact that he hasn't brushed his teeth in at least two weeks is far more noticeable than any alcohol could be. Blaine unconsciously scrunches his nose and exhales continuously to keep the smell out of his nostrils, filling them with his own air instead.

"Get. _The_ fuck. Out of my face." Blaine stands on the points of his toes to appear taller than the man, failing miserably. He furrows his eyebrows and produces a serious expression, hopefully as intimidating as he feels. Blaine pushes him away, balls of his palms ricocheting off of the drunk's shoulders.

Blaine Anderson is a survivor. He can survive his father; surely, he can overcome this.

The man laughs again and body checks Blaine, sending him to the ground, saved graciously by the padding of his ass. He stumbles until the small of his back crashes in contact with the wall. He's stalking up into the face of the drunk man, watching on for his next move in what seems to be Blaine's very first prison fight. Blaine pulls himself into a perch, like a leopard frozen in time until the wild rabbit is utterly unaware of his presence. They are both guarded and waiting for the other's next action.

A cop interrupts by unlocking the sliding door of chrome bars.

"Let's go, Bates. We're releasing you."

The man tilts his head to side eye the public servant and jumps, clicking his heels in the air like a leprechaun.

Blaine exhales the breath he's been holding since he was knocked to the ground.

"I'm freeeeeeeeee!"

Blaine is furious. He sighs, brushing himself off as he rises from the ground and back to his spot on the slab of concrete elevated from the ground just enough to notice the difference in height. Besides the small interaction with his cellmate, he didn't even do anything wrong and now he's cornered into a box with bars until someone can get in touch with Santana. They're certainly not trying very hard to find her, and it's probably because they want him to suffer.

He looks around, examining the lack of supplies one might need in a holding cell. At least on television, these places have a place to pee. "Excuse me? I have to use the bathroom."

"Shut your trap, boy!" The disgruntled cop from the coffee shop snaps his head to face the boy. "Or we'll lose your little hero and forget we're even looking for her."

He groans and slams his fist into the space next to him. The hard material hurts his hand, but it's nothing he can't handle right now. He's got to get out of here. He has no choice but to call Kurt, as embarrassing and shameful as the conversation will be.

"Can I at least have my phone call? I really want my phone call."

The cop stares at him. The one next to him cackles.

"Maybe later, fag."

He's going insane. The small-town words don't sting too much, not anymore. He's used to it, and they'll never change no matter how much he fights back every single time. Blaine throws his head into his hands and waits. He waits, and rises, and paces, and waits, and wiggles so he doesn't pee his pants, and suggests the police officers invest in some sort of company directory for the courthouse, especially if they can't seem to find Santana Lopez's extension in the now two hours he's been trapped in this one particular hell. Or they could just Google her. Or just look in his fucking phone that they so conveniently confiscated before locking him up in this sleazehole.

"You know, I didn't even do anything wrong."

"What part of 'anything you say can and will be held against you' don't you understand, Anderson?"

"You guys told me four miles, though! I was within four miles, I swear to God!"

"Anderson. Shut it."

Blaine's head snaps upward at the change in voice. "Santana! Thank you! You have to get me outta here." He approaches the bars and grips each fist around each of two evenly spaced poles.

Santana walks to the counter officially and with purpose. She speaks seductively to the man and follows him over to the cell as he unlocks it and grabs at Blaine's bicep. The other police officer handcuffs him behind his back and leads him into a private room. There is a large window on one side of the room, but it's not leading to the outside world. It's obvious that it's leading to a secret holding room for whoever needs to listen to the conversation between a lawyer and a client or, in Blaine's case, the talk between troubled teenager and his parole officer. There's a barred, smaller window that only takes up a few feet nearest to the ceiling facing the courtyard where Santana chased after Blaine the last time they were in this building back in May, and an old, beat-up maple table with two folding chairs sitting on opposite ends.

Santana sits in one of the chairs and motions to the other one.

Blaine sits and stares at her.

"I didn't fucking do anything."

"You went past your damn boundary, Blaine! I drew you a God damned map!" Santana's frustrated, disappointed.

"No, I swear I didn't go anywhere I wasn't supposed to. I took the same exact route that I always take to the Lima Bean, I swear to God. The GPS beep thing didn't even go off! They know who I am and follow me around basically everywhere because of my fucking father." The creases in his forehead could split the Red Sea.

Santana doesn't unlock the eye contact, and squints to determine his lying skills.

"I swear, San. I'll do anything to prove it."

"Okay. Stop. I'm going to try to get you out of here. You okay?"

"What time is it?"

"Like eleven."

"God, Kurt's probably freaking the fuck out by now. I'm always there two hours ago."

"Let's just… Blaine, focus on the issue at hand."

Santana stands, pushing into the table and leaning across to share a secret.

"Do not breathe a word until I say so."

Blaine nods. "I really have to pee and they aren't letting me."

Santana laughs. "Soon, I promise."

Blaine waits. He paces, he waits. He attempts to lift his hands up and over his shoulders but he's not as double-jointed and some may hope. He slams his wrists back down onto the seat behind him and sighs. He squirms a bit as though that action alone will demolish the metal of the cuffs digging into each wrist. He leans his forehead down on the surface of the table and he closes his eyes in an attempt to suck in his tears. He really has to pee.

He can't even fathom what his father is going to do to him when he hears about this mishap. Technically speaking, his father is his representation against the law and Blaine is certain he would rot in jail forever if it were up to Christian. Since he could remember, Blaine has never been good enough for anyone in his life. Although it was better at home before he was honest with his sexual preference, it was never the best childhood ever. Home never once felt like home, and his father has always blamed him for every terrible thing that's happened to their family, even if their issues were a far cry from being an actual relevant issue compared to terrible things that happened to other families. Blaine often referred to their issues as First World Problems. Things like Starbucks being moved to the mall instead of a willable distance or the fact that their transmission blew on their hundred-thousand-dollar sedan were absolute travesties, even though Christian Anderson made more money than God. They were never starving, and everyone always had what they needed. It was an easy life. Christian Anderson's opportunity to use Blaine as his own personal punching bag had nothing to do with the fact that the boy was gay before he was open about it. It was because he was too short, started drinking coffee too early, missed curfew. Christian Anderson used anything to take his rage out on his son.

It must have been thirty minutes before Santana comes back with a different cop entirely.

"Listen. Don't panic. I have a plan, but you have to stay here until I figure it out."

"Santana! What the hell? Please get me out of here." He's putting all his trust in her because he can't stand to rely on anyone else.

"It's going to be okay, Blaine, come on." She nudges him to follow the cop back into a holding cell. "I'm going to call Kurt. He owes me a few favors."

"What does Kurt have to do with anything? Please don't drag him into the drama. Fuck. Did they even tell you why I'm here?"

"You've gone beyond your probation conditions. You apparently were in a red-zone beyond your four miles. You ignored the fact that you needed to register for school and get a job, despite all my efforts." Santana grins, as if to say told you so. She glances at the detective leading the way, probably listening in to their conversation intently. "I'm going to try to get a business owner down here to interview you for a job."

"_Kurt_."

Before he can say anything further, he's slammed back into the same holding cell.

"Easy, cholo. He's just a damn kid." Her stilettos are clicking angrily across the tiled floor and out the building.

"_Santana_."

"I'll be back, Blaine. I promise." She winks at him over her shoulder and turns to the guys drooling at her behind the desk. "And let the kid pee, for God's sake. We all know how illegal that shit is, and I'd hate to have to track down the warden for something as idiotic as that."

* * *

Julie insists on sticking around even though the coffee shop has been unusually empty since the crack of dawn. She stands firm in staying, if not for the extra hours but also so she can learn the ropes a bit more. She knows that Kurt wants to train her to become the manager, and although it may not be a career goal for the rest of her life, a long-term position at a popular small business might sprinkle her resume with the pixie dust it needs. Later, Kurt will be grateful for her persistence, as Austin calls out sick anyway. Julie's not doing anything else today; she volunteers to stick around for a double-shift, no problem, to show her boss how committed she is to his business.

Kurt notices that Blaine doesn't appear at 9:05, and chalks it up against the way he treated him yesterday. Regrettable words were said, the most sensitive of feelings were agonized and bleeding out on the floor as that beautiful boy absorbed all of what Kurt said about them never having a chance together.

If Kurt were Blaine, he's pretty positive he wouldn't have shown up today either. Kurt is such a fucking dick; he ruins everything, even friendships with seventeen-year-olds.

"Hey, Kurt?" Julie calls out to her boss, effectively snapping him out of his train of thought.

"Yeah, Jules."

"I'm on my last gallon of milk up here. I didn't see any in the fridge. Do you want me to go get some?"

"Oh! That's not good. I'll go get some; you're good here alone for a little bit?"

"Yeah, no problem!"

* * *

Kurt needs a break from the shop, he needs to absorb his mind in his thoughts without interruption, and browsing grocery store aisles is the perfect excuse. He regrets pushing Blaine away and he hopes that he can fix it. Maybe he'll be at the shop by the time he gets back with the generous supply of milk.

Or so he thinks.

The drive to the local Corner Grocery is too short and not enough to escape reality. He parks, leaves the car running until the end of the newest Daft Punk song, then stalks into the store ready with a mental list of only one product needed.

Walking through the store without a schedule and rather aimlessly, he's taking the time to utilize his brain, far into thought, running through his pros and cons list when it comes to his beautiful Blaine. He feels terrible for being such an asshole to the boy and is trying to figure out what he can say to make it all better, and he regrets pushing him away although that's exactly what needs to happen.

Suddenly, his shopping cart collides with another in the pasta aisle, an area clear across the store from the much-needed variety of dairy products displayed.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" Kurt is shocked at his carelessness and overall distracted demeanor but deems to make it up to this mystery man right now. "I'm really sorry."

"You, kind sir, can collide with my shopping cart anytime."

Kurt's head jerks to look at the other man and blushes. He's admittedly gorgeous and he's clearly flirting, and hopefully gay because God, when Kurt asked for something to take his mind off of Blaine, he got served with a silver platter of _sexpot deliciousness_ quicker than the cows could come home. With all of that said about his new friend standing in front of him in the pasta aisle, when Kurt is nervous, he is snarky.

"Creative."

"My name is Sebastian." The man's eyes twinkle and rake up and down his body. _Definitely gay._

Fine, Kurt's intrigued. If anything, he's at least closer to his own age than Blaine is. Isn't this what he had been hoping would happen – a good-looking distraction to take his mind, body, and cock off of the high-schooler? He's momentarily forgotten about Blaine and the general desire to make all okay with the boy.

"Kurt."

"Nice to meet you. What brings you… here?"

Kurt can't help but laugh. "Your pick-up lines are only tailored for the bar, huh?"

Sebastian grins, "Guilty as charged. I'm not used to chance meetings by way of fate."

_Oh._

Kurt answers anyway. "I'm here for the groceries. Really, just the milk."

Sebastian smiles again then looks to his almost-full cart. "I'm apparently here for… Cheez-Its, hamburger meat, and a phone number."

Kurt gets it, he understands what's happening with this conversation and he's already decided a few exchanges ago what it's going to lead to because what else is he doing? This could be really great for him; this could very easily make an awesome "how did you meet" story.

"Edible phone numbers, like those Gushers we had when we were kids? Fruit by the phone number?"

Sebastian seemingly hasn't stopped laughing since the crash of carts only a few minutes ago.

"Only if your phone number is something you think I should use as a snack."

Kurt throws his head back and laughs, pausing to grab Sebastian's iPhone that he's been playing with between his fingers throughout the conversation and punches his number in, hits "call," then digs his own phone out of his pocket and waits for it to connect. He hands the phone back and nods shyly.

"I'd like to take you to dinner, Kurt."

"That'd be lovely. Text me and we'll set something up."

"Is tonight too forward?"

He hesitates, but quickly makes up his mind. _Now or never, Hummel._ "No. Not at all. Breadstix?" He glances at his phone for the time. "6:30?"

"Where can I pick you up?"

"Oh! No need, I'm a short distance from work to the restaurant. See you then."

He jumps at the vibrating phone in his hand, smiling down at the screen when Santana's face appears. It's a funny picture and he remembers the day he took it like it was yesterday. They both spent too long pushing their faces up against the glass at the Lima Bean to get perfect photos of each, appearing to be inside the phone when it was shown through.

"See you tonight, Sebastian."

He throws his phone to his ear and answers smugly, expecting Santana to make fun of him. "Go for Lady Lips Hummel who misses Lopez working at Coyote Ugly like white on rice."

"Houston, we have a problem."

"Santana? What's wrong?"

"I need your help."

* * *

Kurt's car skids into place, sideways and half on the sidewalk directly in front of the courthouse. He's already wasted enough time, practically throwing the four gallons of milk at Julie's face before explaining that he needed to go and to call him if anything. He can almost feel the tires still moving under his feet as he jumps out and slams the door in the same motion, running around the front of the Navigator, skipping two steps at a time until he's successfully inside the courthouse and rushing through the low-budget security, attaching his cell to his ear until Santana answers.

They find each other; Kurt is a sweating hot mess, nervous and deranged.

"Santana! Where is he? He's okay?"

"He's fine. I just… did you bring what I asked?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. He doesn't need to interview."

"He has to, it's part of the paperwork. Let's just get this over with. I just hope he catches on quickly enough when we walk in."

Santana produces the signed-by-her-boss forms of proof of Blaine's enrollment at McKinley High. He's due to start Monday. She professionally introduces Kurt to a clerk behind a glass-encased cubicle and she comes around to shake his hand. She leads him to the holding room where Blaine is waiting again, and they enter with a badge.

"Kurt!"

Santana speaks up over Blaine. They are so not supposed to know each other. "Blaine, this is the owner of the Lima Bean downtown, Mister Kurt Hummel. Kurt, this is Blaine Anderson. He'll be interviewing for your open position of Barista today." She side eyes Blaine, in an effort to relay the message without obvious wording.

Blaine looks at her, then to Kurt, and then to the police officer. He blinks for a few seconds before the realization in his teenage brain clicks. "Sir, do you mind… do you think that maybe you could un-cuff me so I can shake his hand? If this is an interview, I'd like to try to make a decent first impression, despite the circumstances." He gazes around the dungeon of the room and rolls his eyes a bit, before settling on Kurt again, mouth twitching upward in the faintest smile, then back to the man with the key to his handcuffs.

The man peers over to the secretive window along the edge of the room, and nods to himself.

Blaine continues, "If my father's taught me anything, it's to be polite to a potential employer."

"Sure, kid. I guess so." Blaine stands for easier access, and he unlocks him out of his shackles. He immediately rubs at his wrists and flexes them, in pain.

Kurt and Santana both stand there, jaws locked open in an "oh" shape. Blaine really knows how to play up the rich prep school kid, and neither of them have seen this act before. Kurt scoffs, hiding a giggle. It's so weird to see Blaine like this.

Kurt's eyes shift to the boy's burgundy wrists. He almost gets a tight feeling in his lower abdomen, imagining his own key unlocking Blaine, allowing his wrists to detach from the headboard, plummeting into post-orgasm bliss, resting on Kurt's chest and playing with his fingertips. _This is not the time for that, Hummel._

Blaine flails a hand toward Kurt, looking at him expectedly.

Kurt turns to look at Santana then back to the angelic boy in front of him. He smiles. He takes Blaine's hand and cocoons it between both of his.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." Blaine sits and props himself up with perfect posture on the edge of his seat. Kurt follows suit and swallows. He smiles again, trying not to puke up the inevitable sarcastic perspective he obtains when scared or nervous.

"So… I take it you like coffee."

"The coffee at the Lima Bean is the best I've ever had. I'm there quite a bit, you may have seen me there?"

Kurt blushes. "I can't say that I have."

Blaine nods and smiles. "In any case, your white mochas are the best."

Kurt's cheeks have permanently shaded into crimson red. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, pret- Kurt."

"Okay guys, the interview questions. Get to the interview questions." Santana pipes in; she wants this to be over before it even started. She knows how Kurt is under the wrath of his nerves and especially near the authorities, but what other choice does she have?

"Right! Have you…" He reads from a supplied piece of paper, "Have you ever worked a cash register?"

"I've been around money all of my life and I used to help my mother at her flower shop a little bit, yes." _Lies. _Blaine decides that he will make anything up to seem like a perfect candidate so he can get out of here as soon as possible.

"Very good. What else? Um, have you ever been arrested for larceny… Santana! That's a stupid question!" Kurt sweats, already having a feeling about this answer.

"Don't you want to know if your potential employee has ever stolen anything, Mr. Hummel?" The detective that speaks up is clearly against releasing Blaine.

Kurt only looks to Blaine. "You don't have to-"

"Uh, yeah, I have."

Kurt shrugs and looks back up to the professional with his hands on his hips. "Honesty. I like it. Do you have open availability and a reliable means of transportation to get to and from work?"

"At the moment, my availability is completely open. Assuming I'll be registering for school, per my parole officer, I'll have availability early mornings until whenever school starts, and also after school and weekends. As for transportation, I only live a few miles from the shop, so getting there won't be a problem. Unless my dad keeps me behind for one of his little inspiring talks." Blaine speaks directly to the window and, seemingly, the people that are standing behind it with arms folded and studying his body language. He speaks clearly and articulately, as any prep school boy would. Blaine seems so out of place in this dingy room with an ankle monitor attached and his life falling apart, having been arrested for the third time now before he's even eighteen.

Kurt sighs. "I mean… I don't have any other questions." Kurt twists and looks up at Santana, "He's exactly what I need at the Lima Bean." He locks eyes with Blaine and Blaine's mouth twitches again. The boy read that more than anyone else in the room had, which was Kurt's intention. In the heat of the moment. Without thinking rationally.

"Very well. As soon as we process the paperwork with the school and the Lima Bean, Blaine will be free to go. I'll leave you three to schedule first days, then please come see me, Mr. Hummel, for your conditions for hiring a member of our delinquent system. Ms. Lopez, please call me before you walk your client out and we'll assist you. He can't leave this room without the cuffs."

The three friends squint at the sound of the word, "delinquent," and the harsh rules but Kurt finds his voice enough to ask a simple question.

"What does that mean? What are the basics?"

"Well, similarly to a corporate review process, we'll be checking up on Blaine's performance every few weeks with you, as well as attendance. We also may randomly check the schedule and drop in to make sure he is where you say he is. He has to keep the job to stay out of trouble. Essentially, you're helping us babysit him when we can't have eyes on him. This is a new initiative to keep these kids off the streets."

"Thank you." Kurt stands to shake the detective's hand and turns to Blaine and Santana when he leaves the room.

Blaine slouches into himself as soon as the detective leaves. Santana rises and stands in the corner, pretending to respond to an email.

"_Blaine_." Kurt sits down across from him again.

"You're always saving me, pretty boy."

"You're always found in bad situations."

"Thank you." Blaine glances at Santana, who's head is bowed but her eyes are shifted up so she can watch them. He reaches for Kurt's hands, folded on the table and brushes them over the knuckle. He needs to feel.

Kurt flinches slightly but allows the boy to clench over his hands and they sit for a few seconds. Kurt's brought back to the conversation all those weeks ago where his father said that Blaine will be arranging conjugal visits when he goes to prison for fucking him in the first place. It hits home too hard and Kurt pulls away nervously.

He stands inelegantly. "San, we need to go to the detective's office, yes? Blaine, if you're around tomorrow, I'll start training you then. Okay? Just text me what time we should expect you and I'll have Julie teach you everything."

"You don't have to really hire me, Kurt."

"You want to rot in here?" Kurt flails his arms haphazardly, "I can't have that happen. Welcome to the Lima Bean." He leaves Blaine feeling dizzy in his wake.

Santana and Kurt go through all of the necessary notions for Blaine to be released and they quickly find out that because he is still a minor, a parent or guardian must be called. Kurt cannot hide his distaste for Blaine's father. Kurt knows enough about their father-son relationship to know that Blaine will be in danger if Christian Anderson picks him up. Santana and Kurt exchange a look, but Santana shrugs it off because she knows what he's thinking and there's not a damn thing she can do about who is authorized to pick the boy up. The only other one allowed to help in this situation, Blaine's brother, is in California and that's too far to save his baby brother.

"Kurt! I mean… Mr. Hummel?" Kurt's head snaps around toward the room next door separated by glass and finds Blaine with pleading eyes and white knuckles against metal bars. Kurt looks back to the detective drawing up the paperwork with Santana for permission and when he nods his head and shrugs, Kurt approaches the holding cell.

"You can't be here when my dad comes." Blaine looks like he's about to cry and Kurt's not understanding why.

"Ummm…"

"I may have… told him about… a boyfriend of mine that's several years older than me and he might assume I meant you… I mean… I sort of did, but only to piss him off."

"We're not… did you tell him about-"

"No! No. But it's not safe for you to be here when he gets around to picking me up."

"Well, it's not safe for you to go with him. You'll start work tonight."

"What?"

"I've got something going on tonight, but Julie's there and she'll train you. I'll wait for you in the parking lot. Let him sign you out or whatever and just find my car… um, a black Navigator, and I'll drive you back to work. We'll even stay within your city limits." Kurt ends with a joke and a smirk, one of the many attempts at making sure Blaine is okay.

"Always saving me."

"Always needing it." Kurt turns and smiles over his shoulder before approaching Santana with the new plan.

* * *

It works; Kurt glances to Blaine before he leaves the building and goes to sit in the car. Santana waits for Blaine's father and introduces herself to him upon arrival. Blaine is officially released and speeds out the door as fast as he can, his father trailing him and screaming at him to get in the fucking car. Blaine ignores him, desperately searching for the black Navigator. Kurt watches the scene and Blaine, who's running and slams into the passenger side of his car. Kurt unlocks the door so Blaine can throw himself up and into the SUV. Christian Anderson scowls at the car but can't do much more because he is among colleagues in broad view within the courthouse parking lot. Kurt starts the car and pulls away, out of the parking lot, watching Christian Anderson turn red and punching the air in his rear view mirror. They're silent for several minutes, save the quiet sing-along Kurt's having with a 90s song Blaine doesn't recognize.

"Exactly how I pictured him. Your dad."

"Whatever, he fucking sucks."

"You're okay?" Kurt looks over to Blaine and tilts his head.

"Fine."

Kurt nods and the noise disappears again. He parks shortly thereafter and they make their way, in silence, into the Lima Bean.

"Kurt! Is everything okay? You practically sprinted out-"

"Everything is okay, Julie. Hey, so I just hired Blaine. Mind training him, finding him an apron and all of that?"

"Oh! Sure!" Julie grins at Blaine, exposing all thirty-two of her pearly white teeth. Kurt smiles at the exchange, pats Blaine on the shoulder and lets his palm linger for a few seconds more than he should, and makes his way to the back room to gather some of his things before going upstairs to get ready for his date in two hours with Sebastian.

* * *

"Julie?"

"Yep?" She peaks her head into the backroom and smiles.

"Text me if you need anything. I… have a date tonight." Kurt whispers so Blaine can't hear, and Julie squeals.

"Oh my God! I will not bother you for anything! I promise."

"You can if you need to." He follows her out into the front.

"Okay, Kurt." She smiles at him. "Should I lock up?"

"I'll probably be back. Thank you, Julie."

She salutes him and giggles.

"See you later, Blaine. Good luck with this one, she's a real toughie."

"Clearly." Blaine's sarcasm is dripping like diamonds.

"Bye guys." Kurt smiles and rushes upstairs to make himself pretty.

* * *

Sebastian is leaned up against the wall next to the front door of Breadstix with a bouquet of lilies, only supported by his shoulder blades and one foot. Kurt's been staring at him through his car window for three whole minutes, willing his courage and adrenaline up enough to get this date started. It has been years, and he's admittedly nervous and uneasy about dating in general, even if Sebastian weren't as gorgeous as he is.

He jumps to the ground and strolls over to Sebastian.

"Hey."

Sebastian blushes. "Hello." He extends his arms to hand off the flowers. "For you."

"Oh! Thank you." Kurt replies, and goes in for a hug but Sebastian awkwardly kisses his cheek.

"Um. We should…" Sebastian opens the door and Kurt walks through. They sit in a booth toward the bar. Kurt smiles and looks at Sebastian, who's sweating bullets destructive to the back of his shirt, Kurt's sure. Blinking, he takes the menu from the waitress politely and starts to scan the offerings.

The silence is deafening, but when Kurt decides on grilled eggplant parmesan and closes his menu, he finds Sebastian shamelessly staring at his face.

"Hmmm, hey." There's a pause that feels like a year. "Did you find the rest of your groceries easily?"

"Oh yeah! So many sales today, I saved like seventy-five dollars!"

Kurt laughs politely, but he really doesn't want to be talking about grocery sales right now.

"So, what do you do when you're not shopping for food and phone numbers?"

Sebastian launches into a monologue of his life, hardly coming up for a breath. He's a narcissist in a way that's completely unattractive to Kurt, and that's saying a lot because he knows Miss Rachel Berry, every-award-winning actress all over your television screen. Kurt mentally records that he is a high school chemistry teacher at the very school he attended twelve years ago, and that he's part of a national science board that has him traveling twice a year to unimpressive areas of the Midwest and Mountain regions to judge fairs and projects and the nerdiest kids of America. He seems happy in his work, and that's nice, but Kurt notes that he's also happy in his mediocrity. His mind, as per usual, drifts to Blaine and starts to compare the two, not for the first time since this morning in the grocery store. Blaine's physical features ultimately win, but not by a long shot. Kurt knows he has a type; Sebastian's characteristics suggest that Blaine will almost be identical in a few years with slight differences in the hairline, jaw, and smile structure and, obviously, the eyes. Where Blaine's eyes are kaleidoscopes to the point that Kurt admits to seriously pondering if it's even possible that the Beatles wrote the song with him in mind thousands of years ago, Sebastian's are a dull version of his own, not quite turquoise but comparable more to a steel grey. Still very attractive, of course, but Kurt finds himself yearning for the eyes with forty-five different shades of green, gold, and chocolate. Kurt notices that he knows next to nothing about Blaine Anderson in the weeks upon weeks he's known him, but seems to be ending with the life story of Sebastian whatever-his-last-name-is after twenty minutes of listening. Kurt thrives in the mystery, in the challenge. With every new story Sebastian tells, he is proving himself to be an open book, easy to figure out.

If this were a competition, Blaine Anderson would win all the awards.

It's not a competition, though, so Kurt patiently waits for Sebastian to finish his meal through the elaborate chemistry-class-related stories of his students and seemingly boring life. There's just not a click between the two men, despite the almost perfect age difference. It's in this moment that Kurt realizes that age is just a number, after all, and he needed to go out with someone his own age to really understand that. If he doesn't have a connection with his partner, whether he is seventeen or seventy, then what's the point anyway? He can't wait to get back to the coffee shop and have a much-needed talk with Blaine.

It's somewhere between a serious and genuinely opinionated conversation about true uses of nitrogen and the most recent journal entry Sebastian wrote toward a doctorate assignment about alternative fueling using no oxygen at all that Kurt snaps. He sneakily starts playing a song from his iTunes collection, pretending it's actually a ringtone. He hits stop and "texts," waiting for a "reply," apologizing profusely to Sebastian that he has to leave, and cuts the date abruptly short. He throws a twenty down and mumbles a promise to call later to reschedule and whisks out of the restaurant, almost running toward the car. It's only eight; he can go check on Blaine to see how he's doing in his training efforts at the coffee shop.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Song in this chapter: Arctic Monkeys – Do I Wanna Know?**

Kurt slams through the front door of the Lima Bean, exacerbated with every step back from Breadstix. Sebastian was clearly easy on the eyes, but the matter between his ears was null at best. Kurt made a pact right then and there to never accept a date in hopes that there is a hometown hero made specifically for him somewhere in Ohio; he thinks he might have already found his prince right here at the Lima Bean.

Julie jumps in place enthusiastically at his arrival as he throws his messenger bag into the back room without setting foot into it. He looks over at the teenagers. Blaine's new embroidered Lima Bean apron is wrapped and tied tightly around his waist, with the portion meant to cover his chest rolled underneath. Of course the boy would alter his uniform and force it into his "don't give a fuck" style. He's wearing black Dockers and a tight black collared polo shirt that he must have gotten from the uniform box in the back. His assigned Lima Bean hat is missing, but Kurt doesn't mind. He takes Kurt's breath away, even in all black casual wear and a somewhat dirty apron.

Kurt's mind drifts as he's judging Blaine's uniform, and he quickly compares Sebastian's physical qualities to Blaine's. He is guilty of comparison at the restaurant, but with Blaine now in front of him, he can't help but reevaluate. Both faces are gorgeous, but it's the way that Blaine's mouth twitches halfway into a smile when he doesn't want it to, like a fight. It's the way Blaine's eyes literally glimmer against the sunlight through the window every morning when he arrives, or how his brow furrows when he's confused, thinking, sad, frustrated. It's how his expressions are always written all over his face; it's how he can't hide even the slightest of emotion. It's the fact that Kurt can tell, by just looking at the boy, that there's so much more to him than Lima, Ohio. Sebastian is destined to live and die here, even if he has pretty eyes and a flawless face. Blaine is a dreamer; Sebastian settles. Kurt can't settle. Kurt Hummel has finally chosen which fork he's to follow for, hopefully, the rest of his life.

"Hi guys."

"How was your date, Kurt? Did he pay for you? Did he totally sweep you off your feet? Did he make you blush? Did you kiss at the end of the night? Are you going to see him again? Ahhh! Tell us everything!" Julie claps her hands once and holds them together in a praying stance. She's bouncing on her tippy-toes then back down to her heels every three seconds or so. Her chocolate eyes are bulging and the grin on her face is giving the sun a run for its money.

Blaine sputters, "Your what?" Blaine stares at Kurt, dumbfounded and mimicking Julie's eyes but for incomparable reasons. He looks away, locks his jaw and pushes, looking anywhere else, eyes shifting to find a focus but everything is blurred and inanimate. He seizes the broomstick from the hook on the wall and furiously attempts to grind a hole into the tile by his feet with only plastic-coated bristles.

"My date. If you must know, it was... it had potential, I guess. I'll spare you the details."

"Oh come on, I can handle your adult nightlife! Let me live vicariously through you! You, someone who doesn't have a curfew, even!" Julie was practically begging, so excited to hear about something that could have been so great for Kurt and his future; something he blew off because he couldn't stop thinking about Blaine.

With one look to Blaine, Kurt knows he is seething. He knows how this night is going to end if he has any control over it, so he decides to play a little game with Blaine.

"Oh my God, fine. He took me to Breadstix, got me flowers but I left them on the table." He shrugs. "He's gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking, but only physically. There wasn't much else, I hardly remember what he even said to me. Honestly, it's eight o'clock, how do you think it went?"

"Awww, Kurt, I'm sorry. You'll find Mr. Right, he's out there, I just _know_ it!" Kurt could always count on Julie for staying optimistic. She hasn't experienced enough to really be in touch with the harsh reality of limitations and letdowns, and if Kurt takes advantage of that to stroke his own ego, well no one really has to know it.

"Why did you go on a date?" Blaine nearly whispers it, clearly hurt and Kurt almost feels bad about it.

"Free meal? I don't know, he was cute and I had nothing to lose. I wasn't doing anything better tonight besides chaperoning teenagers while they manned my coffee shop?" Kurt raises an eyebrow and looks to Blaine's reaction of grinding teeth and eyes rolling so far into his head, they might be lost. He chuckles before continuing. "Turns out he's really fucking boring, though. I guess I'm looking for love in all the wrong places." Kurt says simply with a shrug, boring into Blaine's eyes for another reaction.

"Umm…" Julie doesn't provide an excuse to disappear, but she does and neither Kurt nor Blaine mind.

Blaine groans and drops the broom powerfully and charges the condiment station to see if he should restock the sugar; there's no need. He picks up the canister of milk and slams it back down; it's too full to add more. He pushes at the napkin dispenser; there is not even one item to replace. With each step around the store to check on the neatness of the floor and tabletops, Blaine's face gets redder. He's almost running around in circles, trying to create tasks to distract him from the screaming match he wants to have so badly with Kurt. He's too jealous to have a conversation with meaning, and Julie's here so it can't happen in the capacity he needs it to happen. Fuck.

He looks in Kurt's direction. Kurt's across the room where he is watching him with his arms folded and his head tilted. He approaches Kurt and asks a simple question.

"Why can't I fucking take you out on a date?"

"You never asked."

"Oh, don't give me that shit, Kurt. I'll take you anywhere you want, you know that, and this guy only got to go out with you because he's the right fucking age! Am I right? Good-looking, twenty-something man with a career and a house and a car he's not paying off anymore? I can't offer you any of those things, Kurt. And that's why I'm not with you. That's why I could never be with you."

"That was a positive attribute, yes. There's more to it than that, Blaine."

"We had sex."

"We did." Kurt confirms.

"I assumed you wouldn't date… anyone…" _Else_.

"I never gave you any indication that I wouldn't, Blaine." _I was trying to get over you._

"What does he have that I don't? Besides… stuff. A car, a house, a career." It comes out as a whine that Blaine can't stop.

And just like that, the adolescent whimper that escapes from Blaine's mouth does Kurt in. Something snaps; he needs the boy close right this second.

"Okay. Julie?" Kurt doesn't look in her direction as he's speaking. He's still watching Blaine intently, nodding slowly with hooded eyes and a thin lip and a smile sneaking through ever so slightly.

"Yep?" She peaks her head out from the back room, her arms full of paper cups and sleeves.

"Go home."

"Oh it's okay, really. Blaine's doing well with the training but we still have to cover a few things before the night is over. I'm going to show him how to fold out the sleeves with one hand and where to find the bleach and…"

Folding his arms across his chest, he walks out from behind the counter to get even closer to Blaine, like Blaine is the slab of metal and he is the magnet. "I'll train him." Blaine throws his head upwards to meet Kurt's gaze, only a few feet away. They have yet to look at Julie.

"You'll… train me?"

"I will _train_ you. Everything you'll know in an hour. Will be because of me." Kurt lifts an eyebrow and smirks before innocently placing his lips chastely against Blaine's for an abrupt second, dropping his arms to his sides. He doesn't take his eyes off of Blaine's, pulling away and raking up and down, checking him out more obviously than ever. "Bye Julie."

If and when and how Julie exited, they would never know.

"He's not good enough for you."

"You don't even know him. But no, he's not."

"I want you to be with me."

"Mmmm, is that right? Blaine Anderson wants something?"

"I don't want you dating anyone else."

"You're not my boyfriend."

There's a pause. They stare at each other. Kurt continues.

"You know, B. Sebastian, that's his name." Blaine's heart stops as Kurt's eyes rake all over his face, a seductive scowl on his lips. Kurt enters Blaine's personal bubble. "He's hot and all. I was actually blown away by his smile, by his mouth. The way it moved when he spoke, Blaine, Jesus you had to see it." He shakes his head to get the image out of his brain. "But you know what you have that he doesn't?" He steps further into Blaine's space. They're not touching, but it would only take one swift movement of a body to be leaned up against the other.

"Umm, wha-what?" Blaine breathes in Kurt's smell. It's vanilla, brown sugar, and summer. It's perfect; something he'll never forget.

"Me. Passion… feelings of want so much; you drive me insane every time you walk through this door. Me, nearly wrecking my car trying to get to you so I can save you from the courthouse before your father gets there. Me. With you. Me, inside you as you writhe and beg under me, I think about that so often, it's almost embarrassing, B." Kurt stalks back to the stereo, presses a few buttons on his iPhone and plugs in.

_Crawling back to you_  
_So have you got the guts?_  
_Been wondering if your heart's still open and_  
_If so, I want to know what time it shuts_  
_Simmer down and pucker up_  
_I'm sorry to interrupt, it's just I'm constantly_  
_On the cusp of trying to kiss you_  
_I don't know if you feel the same as I do_  
_But we could be together, if you wanted to._

"_Kurt_."

Kurt sneaks back three steps and examines his Blaine again, thoroughly and shamelessly.

"You kind of look like him. Sebastian, I mean. That's probably my subconscious doing something really fucking inappropriate, huh? He was the more normal, socially acceptable, boring version of you in ten years."

"Pretty boy..."

"That, I think, that's what was missing tonight. He didn't have these adorable ways to say my name, he didn't have a pet name for me. You say my name like it's a sin and a prayer at the same time, Blaine. Like I matter to you."

"You _do_. You matter to me, Kurt. _Fuck_."

"Your little nickname for me, although somewhat offensive, is so hot and it makes my heart flip every time you call me that. That's what the other guy doesn't have. He doesn't have my heart, B. I think it's safe to say now that you do. After everything. After all of my stupid resistance, here I am anyway. This might be really inappropriate, with you now not only being eleven years younger than me, but also my employee. Do you care, Blaine?"

Blaine leans in, but stops when he's inches away. There's something romantic about the speech that makes him just want to feel. Feel what, though, he's unsure.

"I guess what I'm trying to say, Blaine… I can be your pretty boy, and you can be my lover boy? Or we could think of something a bit more creative. Or maybe you're just my boyfriend and we save the adorable nicknames for only me. Yeah?"

Blaine feels Kurt's mouth latching onto his soft and soon-to-be-swollen lips, and Kurt's fingers are intertwined into Blaine's unruly curls immediately. It takes Blaine by surprise, but it's only one second before he is hypnotized inside Kurt's kiss. He opens wide and allows Kurt's mouth to captivate him in every way, licking at his tongue and his teeth and his lips. Kurt clamps his teeth to Blaine's bottom lip and pulls. The boy opens his eyes in shock and arousal and swallows, shifting his hips to get closer.

Kurt steps backwards and waves a finger in his face.

"Not so fast, tiger." He smiles and bites his own lip before twirling to lock the door and shut the blinds hanging loosely over the entrance.

"We don't close until ten, though." Blaine's pulled to Kurt. With every step he steals, Blaine follows suit. Kurt turns and Blaine's only a reach away.

"We can stay open if you want?" At Blaine's frantic shake of his head, Kurt chuckles. "We close when I say so. We are closing early today… because you. Want. Me. Blaine. And because I want you. And because we can't deny… us. I can't deny this anymore, B." He swivels his head on the axis of his spine and crashes their lips together again. Blaine smiles against the man's lips and their teeth clink. Kurt pulls away slightly, but Blaine grabs at his bicep with force to keep him close, and rests his other hand directly to his hipbone. He rotates his head to deepen the kiss, and Kurt bends sideways at the hip in a small happy dance, rutting briefly as a taste of what's to come. They break away and Kurt twirls out of his hold, patting at his shoulder before stepping around Blaine, leaving him in a wake of sexual activation.

Kurt flips the open sign so it reveals "closed" and turns back to Blaine, approaching him once more.

"Kurt, wait."

Kurt takes both of Blaine's hands and swings them. They're facing each other; Kurt looks at him expectedly.

"Really? All of that build-up, and now _I _have to wait for _you_?"

"You're… you won't kick me out after again?"

Kurt's face falls.

"Oh my God, that really fucked you up, huh?"

Blaine looks ashamed with a single nod; he kicks at a scuffmark on the floor underneath his shoe.

"Look at me."

Blaine looks up with half a smile left between his cheekbones.

Kurt smiles at him. "Hi."

An adolescent boy, Blaine Anderson peers up at the taller man through his eyelashes.

"I cut the date with Sebastian short tonight, you want to know why? I couldn't get you," Kurt pokes at Blaine's heart, "I couldn't get you out of my head. You're everywhere for me, Blaine."

"Really?"

"Really." He inhales, "I had my very own revelation tonight when I was sitting there listening to this other man babble about his boring life in Lima. He's stuck here. I don't fucking care about what's right or wrong anymore, I don't care about anyone who wants to judge us. I want you, because this is the only life we get, and it's a short life at that, and I want to try this with you, no matter how old you are, and fuck B! I don't want to be stuck. We'll do whatever, and you never have to leave again if you don't want to. We don't have to be stuck. And besides, we only get a few days when we come down to it and I want to spend them with someone who ignites my fire and keeps me on my toes. And if you can't keep me on my toes, Anderson, then no one can, because you, sir, are a firecracker of crude, crass, witty little things that make me blush and get so turned on and I just... now that you're here, I can't imagine you not… here. I'm not gonna lose you just because I can't get my shit together and realize that age is nothing." Kurt looks at him again, blushing crimson with a half-smile plastered across his face.

Blaine laughs tirelessly. "If you're sure… but let it be known that you really wrecked me last time."

Kurt chooses to ignore Blaine's comment; he can't bear to deal with the immensity of the pain he's caused the boy, "And also, that angry little stint you pulled in front of Julie, that jealous little…" Kurt clutches his chest, crouching over Blaine's head so hot air is frisking around the shell of Blaine's ear as he whispers. "You're so hot when you're jealous, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine whimpers. "Please, Kurt."

Kurt smirks and thinks through a raunchy scenario they could perform for each other. This is a very important hint into what Kurt needs out of the sex portion of a relationship.

"We're going to try something a little different tonight, okay? I'll be right back, but in the meantime, take your clothes off and bend over the counter over there." Kurt's eyes flicker to the space where he's instructing the boy to wait. "Do you understand?"

"Y-yeah."

"Go." Kurt slaps his ass then disappears into the back room. Kurt's excited, seeing as Blaine has passed the test and the man fully understands what role Blaine is most comfortable in.

Blaine, however, faintly registers the bathroom door being opened then slammed shut immediately. He snaps out of his trance suddenly when he realizes what Kurt's about to do to him; his shaky hands have him struggling to unbutton his pants and push them onto the floor. He finally gets them off and proceeds to the counter space. He brushes the area with his fingertips, rips his shirt off at the hem, inhales deeply, bends against it at his waist, and plasters his cheek to the surface. The granite is cold on his face; he closes his eyes tight and breathes out, his air catching halfway. His extends his arms to hold onto the lip opposite to the side touching his stomach and he waits.

Minutes pass; Blaine focuses on his breathing. There is no inner commentary for the first time in his life; he simply waits as he was instructed. It's easy and it feels natural, especially under Kurt's rules.

"Honestly, B. You need to see yourself right now. Is this what you do on every first day of work?" Kurt is standing behind him, not close enough to touch. He steps forward, lying his hands to browse each of Blaine's ass cheeks and Blaine finds himself spreading and pushing back to be fully connected with Kurt. "Hold on, baby. We have to get you ready." Kurt produces a bottle of lube and places it on the counter top two inches from Blaine's nose. The boy crosses his eyes to see what it is and lets out a breathy laugh. Kurt bends himself in the same way Blaine is holding himself and looks into his eyes. They are in the same position, side by side, staring into each other, breathing softly and in the same rhythm. "Ready?" He kisses the boy's nose after snatching the lube up and repositioning himself behind him again.

With an eye roll and a moan deep in his throat, Blaine faintly wonders why he's carrying around lube with him, _to his date earlier_, unless Kurt ventured upstairs and he didn't even notice. He distinctively registers the open and shut of the bottle, the wet sound of the warming process, and then he feels Kurt's fingers teasing him at his opening.

"Take me. _Kurt_."

Kurt inserts one finger and twists one hundred and eighty degrees.

"You're sure all of this is okay? We can stop right now, no questions asked."

"Please, Kurt. Give me more."

He's playing with Blaine's insides, thrusting in deeper with each movement. Blaine squirms with each and every lunge, each moan escaping in the same rhythm as Kurt's finger. When it's not so difficult to fill with one finger, Kurt replenishes the lube and rubs into his hole with two fingers. He's circling them together until he finds the ball of nerves and sends Blaine into a fit of wiggles and squirms.

"_Ohmygod, _Jesus! Right there, more."

"Yeah, baby, you like that? Imagine my whole cock buried in you, B, baby." Kurt's actions are rougher than a minute ago, his arm has an ache he's ignoring, but his rhythm stays the same, hard and fast. Blaine's ready. For good measure, Kurt scissors his fingers to really stretch and shoves a third then fourth finger inside.

"Holy shit!" Blaine's voice is two octaves higher than normal but he can't care. The pressure isn't unbearable but it is overwhelming; the fullness is probably nothing compared to Kurt's cock. Regardless, Blaine's mind is still blown. Then, he's hollow. He immediately shifts uncomfortably at the emptiness and he turns his head up and over his shoulder to see what Kurt's doing now.

Kurt catches his eye and smiles. "You're okay, yeah?" He pecks him quickly on the mouth.

"'m fine."

"I'm gonna…" Kurt's putting a condom on and smoothing out the wrinkles. "I don't want you to move an inch while we're doing this, okay?" Kurt removes his shirt and throws it aside, looking down at Blaine's naked back.

Blaine just nods and allows his head to fall back on the hard surface of the granite counter top, still freezing against his cheek. "_Please_, pretty boy. Take me." He presents his ass further up and hopefully closer to Kurt's cock. "Please."

"Oh my God. You wanna beg for it, huh? Like the little cockslut you are?" Kurt lines his cock up with Blaine's hole and teases, rubbing the tip over the opening but not inserting by any means.

"Please take me, Kurt. I want you inside… I'm yours, all yours. I need you inside me, baby. Please!" He is rambling; he doesn't give a shit.

Kurt pauses to saturate himself in Blaine's words, then bucks his head to the heavens and breathes in while each inch is pushed inside until he bottoms out and stills. Blaine's grumbling and whining and his sounds are unholy, and Kurt swears he could see the glimpse of "'til the end of time" with this boy who is willingly only his. Finally.

"You okay? So hot, beautiful just for me."

"Move. Oh my God, move." The boy's voice is entirely wrecked. Only from the one jumble of words, Kurt knows he has control over him for the rest of whatever happens between this gorgeous boy and himself. This is an important moment in their budding relationship, and Kurt makes a mental note to invite him upstairs later. Kurt modifies the placement of his hands from Blaine's hips to covering his knuckles, gone white already from the grip he has on the lip of the counter. If he were to think coherently, Kurt would be terrified of crushing the boy. Instead, he leans his chest heavily against Blaine's back and shifts his hips back then slams back in with no warning.

"Oh my fuck! Kurt! Yours!"

"_Jesus_." Kurt finds a rhythm, thrusting in and out ruthlessly, but he abruptly slows to a stop when there's a jiggle on the door. He looks in its direction, never unburying himself from everything Blaine has. He laughs lightly when he notices the shadow of the customer on the other side of the door, seemingly in a major caffeine shortage, and stands upright again, thrusting back into Blaine at a much more leisurely pace than seconds before.

"Who the fuck, shit Kurt… you're..." Blaine moans loudly, "you're killing me pretty…"

"So gorgeous. You little centerfold you… don't you dare make a sound." Kurt gasps at the change of angle his twitching cock forces, "Don't come, baby. Not until I say so. Understand?"

"Yes, master." Blaine snorts; he says it sarcastically then gasps when he realizes that it's true.

"Again."

"Yes, sir. Yes, master. Anything you want, take from me. I'm yours."

The jiggle on the door handle comes again, then there's frantic knocking. "They'll go away."

Blaine's arms struggle against Kurt's grip and he tries to pick up his head. He whimpers and moans melodically. It's the most exquisite sound Kurt's ever heard out of anyone's mouth.

Kurt stops thrusting altogether and bottoms out. The base of his cock is resting up against the base of Blaine's crack. Kurt unbuttons his collared shirt and pulls his tie out of the loops. "Stop fidgeting, tiger."

"Someone's there…"

Kurt feathers the edge of the tie across Blaine's back and starts to wrap his wrists together over his head. He pushes the boy back down, bent over the countertop. He pulls tightly and makes a nautical knot to connect the heels of Blaine's hands as one. He wraps the excess of material through and around so nothing is loosely hanging.

"That's okay?"

Blaine whispers, moans, grunts some inaudible sound.

"Good. Pretend the counter is my headboard and you're attached. Don't move."

"Yes, sir."

Starting up again, Kurt's out of breath, although his level of excursion is nowhere near what one hundred percent could be. "Focus on me, baby. They'll go away." Kurt picks up the speed until it's back to full speed ahead and he has a hand over Blaine's mouth to stop him from literally screaming in pain-pleasure like he's being murdered. Blaine still squirms with every movement beneath him, although his wrists remain undisturbed and painstakingly still, as though they're hooked and super-glued to the counter. Kurt pulls Blaine up so he's leaning against his chest, wraps one arm around his pectorals, and finds Blaine's cock with the other hand. Kurt rubs at it in circles before clutching and suffocating it. Blaine's knees shake in a frenzy then give out, unlocking and turning to jelly, and Kurt's holding him up, pounding into him like a screen door in a hurricane, and giving him a hand job simultaneously. _Talented, Hummel. A+. _

Blaine's tied-together hands are flailing uncontrollably back and forth into his own chest, punching at his clavicle, bending his elbows with every thrust, every muscle limp in Blaine's body, relaxed and non-existent. He lifts them again to rest against the counter, but they're still rubbing against the surface with every movement, up and down and repeat.

"I'm gonna! Kurt!" Kurt slips his hand up and down Blaine's shaft quickly.

"I've got you, baby. Come for me, honey."

It's like he threw a switch. He's shivering uncontrollably and saying something inaudible throughout his orgasm, then drops and bends back to the counter, resting his head on his arms, where he began. Hands as one hanging over the lip of the countertop, he is panting, burrows his chin into his shoulder to look back at Kurt.

"Hi." Kurt smiles, still unbearably hard but waiting for Blaine to catch his breath before the next rendezvous. "You know how fucking hot you are?"

There's one last jiggle of the handle, a kick at the door, then silence.

Blaine giggles, coming down from his paradise. He turns fully, pulling at his restraints, and pushes a chaste kiss on Kurt's lips.

Kurt is blown away by just how sweet Blaine Anderson could be if he allowed himself to drop the walls. He breaks the kiss, looks into the boy's eyes, and grins. He carefully unties the piece of cloth around Blaine's wrist and rubs at them, kissing each one better.

Blaine finds both of his hands and intertwines all ten fingers, holding them, dangling at their mid-thighs.

"Mmmm, now that I have my hands and the feeling in my legs back, I'm going to help you out, okay?" Blaine steps back two strides to look into Kurt's eyes before sinking to his knees without another word.

"Oh God, Blaine." _This is not going to last long at all._

Blaine smiles up at him and blinks through his eyelashes before submerging the man's cock straight down his throat. He coughs and gags a bit; the taste of latex is not the most pleasant and maybe he was a little overly ambitious for his first blowjob on an actual person, not a piece of fruit. He bobs off and peels away the piece of rubber.

"God! Condoms taste bad." He mumbles with a laugh.

"Done with that, huh?"

Blaine responds with a kiss to Kurt's slit, a lick up and down the vein running alongside the bottommost section, then bobbing his head lazily down all the way until the tip hits tonsils, then back all the way out. Slowly, he flicks his tongue on the head and sucks like his life depends on it. Before he can register any of his actions or any of Kurt's sounds, Kurt's head is thrown back and hot streaks of thick white are located in the back of this throat.

"Jesus Christ, Blaine. How are you so good at that?" Kurt falls and sits on the cold, hard ground. Blaine follows suit and nods, completely satisfied in every aspect of the word. He folds his legs underneath himself and glares with squinted eyes to the beauty of Kurt's legs thrown out in front of his torso, ankles crossed, leaning on his hands.

"Remember when I tried to seduce you with that banana?"

Kurt laughs, "That was one day of many cold showers."

They share a moment. This feels _right_. Has Kurt found the reason why he's still in Lima?

"Just so we're clear, if this was any other storefront of which I didn't personally hire everyone who's supposed to clean the floor on a regular basis, we would not be sitting on the ground like this."

Blaine chokes and lets out a laugh, truly euphoric in this moment. "You want to have sex in other stores?" His eyes glisten hearts and glitter; he's looking at Kurt like the man is his entire world. He certainly has the potential to be.

Kurt laughs; Blaine brings him back to being in high school, head over heels for another teenager, ready to take a risk on his entire life only to be with him.

Blaine sighs and rises to find his boxers, slips them back on, and sees to it that they're hanging on his hips neatly. Kurt raises his hand in a silent request for help getting up. With a bend at the knees and a yank from Blaine, they're standing in front of each other once again. Blaine is sort of dressed, standing by a naked Kurt. Blaine retrieves Kurt's underwear and pants, holding them out to the man. He takes them from him gently and dresses himself. Kurt kisses Blaine's cheek, and it seems like all is right in the world.

"You know what would be so hot, Blaine?" He looks at him. He's confident that Blaine would hang the stars in a different universe if Kurt asked him to nicely enough. Kurt giggles. "Nevermind."

"Mmmm…"

"Do you want to… um, go upstairs?" Kurt speaks, as he takes a tentative wiggle closer.

Blaine feels like he's about two years old. He's nervous that the conversation between him and Kurt earlier was all talk to achieve the sex. Kurt would never lead him on like that, would he? Why would he invite him upstairs if he was leading him on?

"Yeah, sure." Blaine's words come out as an exhale.

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?" The question hits Blaine like a ton of bricks. There'd been no hesitation for the first fourteen weeks of their acquaintanceship, but suddenly indecision swirls all around Blaine's brain.

Blaine stares, realizing just what Kurt's asking before raising his eyebrows toward his hairline. He looks up at Kurt, who's waiting patiently for an answer. He's apprehensive, as much as he wants Kurt every day of his life. His mind wanders to the beginning, to the evolution of their relationship, from not spitting a word to complete trust. He also remembers the first time they fucked, the pure distaste Blaine saw in Kurt's eyes afterward, kicking him to the curb only hours after he'd lost his virginity. Believe it or not, Blaine Anderson needs someone who can take care of him not only physically but with his whole heart.

"I…do. I definitely do, but it's not that easy, Kurt." His words are a rush; this talk is inevitable but he already can't wait for it to be over.

"Nothing worth it ever is." The man tilts his head and brushes his fingertips down Blaine's crossed arms over his chest. "I've treated you like shit in our past because I was scared. I was scared of the feelings you made me feel, despite all of our… differences. The age difference is the biggest one, obviously, but we have already had this conversation. It's irrelevant to me, now. I don't care, not anymore."

"I'm scared that you're going to kick me out again, and it'll be worse this time because I care more than last time." Blaine has no idea where this conversation is going, and he's never known himself to want the things he's spilling out now. "I've wanted you since day one, Kurt, and you know that, and I'm scared you don't feel the same." Blaine shrugs, as if it's not a big deal either way.

"You are so far beyond what I'd ever thought I'd want, baby."

With that, Blaine takes the chance to close the gap between their mouths. It's less of a kiss than a prolonged attachment to the lip. Kurt breaks it; he has more to say.

"You do not have to worry about me not wanting you. Not anymore. Not ever again. You're that unexpected glimmer of light that turns me around and I'm all disoriented and you, you're the one that leads me out of the dead end."

Blaine smiles up at him and nods, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the door.

"Oh, wait! My keys are in my bag… hang on a second." Kurt lets go of his hand and runs to the back room to grab his belongings. Blaine shoves his hands in his pockets while he's waiting and smiles around at the room presented in front of him. He hisses under his breath as he sits in Kurt's chair at the Carrie Table and stares into the space where he would normally be. He smiles without thinking, genuinely happy, and allows one ecstatic tear to fall.

Kurt re-enters the area, whirling around behind the counter and ensuring himself that they are not leaving the coffee shop in any catastrophe-prone condition, before finding his way back to Blaine in the now-dimmed lights.

"We had a pretty big day today, huh?" Kurt places his hands on both of Blaine's shoulders and rubs down to both biceps. "Ready to go?"

Blaine tilts his head up to look at Kurt upside down and smiles a lazy grin. He's completely blissed out and entirely drunk on Kurt in this moment.

"Come on. It's much more comfortable upstairs." Kurt goes to the door and holds it open as Blaine rises and follows him outside then straight back inside, up the stairs, through the front door, and directly to the rear of the apartment where the bedroom waits for them both.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_Author's Note: A quick shoutout to one of my favorite followers, klainecrisscolferwilsonlove on Tumblr. She's forever reblogging my posts about TATIA and for that, I adore her. Everyone go follow… right after you follow me. You know where to find me! _

Kurt immediately loses his clothes again and retreats under the covers. He glances at Blaine through his eyelashes expectedly before Blaine can react. Blaine grins and mimics the motions, lying on his side to look into Kurt's eyes.

"About time, pretty boy."

Kurt laughs. "Oh, whatever. You like me more with the slow build of sexual tension. You love driving me crazy, don't you?"

"Mmmhmm…" Blaine bites his lip, pushing his way through the space between until their lips are connected, all teeth and tongue and smiles. They mutually break it while it's still considered romantic and stare listlessly into eyes of blue and turquoise and gold and green.

He breaks the kiss but brushes his lips against Kurt's chin. "You can say no…" Blaine trails off, nervous that he _will_ say no.

"Mmmm, not likely."

"Are we actually boyfriends?

Kurt chuckles, overjoyed with everything tonight represents. "Oh, you little teenager." He gives Blaine a pointed look. "Do you still want to be?"

"Best birthday ever." Blaine whispers, like it's a secret no one will ever know.

Kurt side eyes him, investigates the deep blush, and then sits up with excitement. "Are you insinuating that your birthday is today?"

Blaine sits up and takes his hands, hopeful that Kurt won't completely hate him.

"Tomorrow." Blaine looks up at Kurt's eyes boring down on him, pleading with him to not kick him out again. He knows all of his thinking has been irrational lately; he doesn't put forth enough effort to care.

"Oh my God!" Kurt grins. "Come here." Kurt pulls him into his chest and lies back down, hugging Blaine and rubbing tiny circles into the middle of his back. "Happy birthday, honey!" He kisses the top of the boy's head.

"Thanks." Blaine mumbles sheepishly. "Are you sure we're okay? I mean, the sex? The whole 'Yay! You're my boyfriend' thing?"

Kurt stills and holds him out by the shoulders to get a good look into Blaine's eyes. He stares deep, but reels his mind back in before he goes on an internal tangent of exactly what color they might be. "Hey, I wanted to do this, okay? Don't you worry your pretty little head. I don't regret this anymore, as long as you don't either."

"But-"

"But nothing, Blaine." Kurt bops Blaine lightly on the nose. "Do you want to be with me?"

Blaine pulls himself back into Kurt's chest and nods against it without hesitation.

"Well, me too. So stop beating yourself up. I've been thinking about this for a long time, since pretty much right after our kiss in my foyer, and my decision today was final, regardless of how apprehensive I was before."

Blaine rolls his eyes again and gives him a half-smile, letting only a hint of a tear pass through onto his cheek.

"God." He furiously wipes away at the moisture and shakes his head.

"Stop." There's a pause. "You know, for big, bad don't-fuck-with-me Blaine Anderson, you're a little softie. He _actually_ has a heart!" Kurt smiles and brushes his knuckles down Blaine's forearm.

Blaine sighs and hangs his head, giggling. "Shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

"Fuck you." Blaine is grinning up at _his boyfriend_ through his words. "Keep saving me, see what happens."

"Always in these shitty situations, my Blaine." Kurt grins and kisses his forehead.

Blaine can't hold back a yawn, masked only by his smile.

"Let's get you to sleep."

Blaine laughs again and darts one hand to his eyes to wipe an invisible tear, pushes himself up and over to straddle Kurt and starts to mark his neck. "Mmmm. Not tired."

Kurt moans and throws his head back into the pillow. Blaine's lips meet his a moment later and they make out like the schoolboys one of them is for upwards of a half hour, licking and tasting all that is theirs. It remains romantic and does not venture into raunchy by any means before Blaine rolls off and smiles, easy to see he's high on life; he's on cloud nine. There is unspoken word that it won't go any further, that the romance is exactly where it should be tonight, that this could be the start of something really special. Besides, it's only a few minutes shy of midnight and Kurt subconsciously doesn't want to fuck anything up further than it's already been.

Kurt licks at the creases of Blaine's ear and pulls back to look tenderly into his eyes.

Blaine's head leans into the nuzzle to his cheek and they catch gazes.

Kurt's lips crack upward slightly and he sighs, pulling him in closer to cuddle.

His blush reaches his ears. No one has _ever_ looked at him like that, _ever_. "Goodnight, pretty boy." Blaine's breath is hot against Kurt's lips, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Blaine shifts, and Kurt feels the transformation into a wide smile against his neck while they slip into a deep sleep, together.

* * *

The alarm is wailing rooster sounds and it startles Kurt awake, a falling sensation on the end of his mattress. He's surprised at first by a boy's presence, then _Blaine's_ presence. The memories of the last few hours come whirling back suddenly, and he's as giddy as he'll ever be before dawn.

He wiggles away; he squirms out of Blaine's arm over his waist, then sprawls out on top of Blaine's sleeping body and attaches their lips together to wake the boy. He moans into it, his eyelids fluttering open, disoriented.

"Mmmm."

"Good morning, birthday boy." Kurt kisses his nose and grins sleepily. Kurt will never get used to waking up so early every morning. "I know it's really early, but I have to go downstairs soon and I have a present for you."

"Noooo. You… so many croissants… pretty." Kurt's fairly confident Blaine is still sleeping. He laughs and kisses him again.

"Blaine, wake up baby."

"Hmmm?" Blaine is sloppily licking at Kurt's lips with eyes that have yet to be opened. The kiss is wet and almost disgusting, so much so that Kurt needs to pull away.

Blaine unfastens his eyes; they glisten toward Kurt. "Pretty boy." He whispers through a smile, like the realization changes the outlook on his entire world. Like one person just _became_ his world.

"Meet me downstairs when you wake up, okay?"

"Making me work on my birthday?"

"Someone has to clean that counter. I have a feeling it's filthy."

Blaine laughs. "Oh, fuck."

"Which brings us right back to your present." Dropping his weight entirely on Blaine, Kurt situates his hands to twirl around the unruly morning curls on Blaine's head. "I wanna ride you."

Blaine whines; he's completely awake now. He throws Kurt off of him so he can situate himself flatly, ripping the pillows out from underneath his head, and kicking the comforter spastically until it's crumpled in a ball on the floor. He yanks at Kurt's hair until he's on top of him again, hands latching to Kurt's hips as he shifts down once more. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration.

Kurt kisses his forehead and brushes a curl out of his eyes as a response. He looks down at him expectedly.

"I'm eighteen today." Blaine grins, proud.

Kurt laughs and takes Blaine's bottom lip captive between his teeth, nibbling and pressing down on his lips hard, a "_muah_" sound rejuvenating his energy.

"You and me, we're not even dangerous. I wanna still be dangerous for you, Kurt."

"You're so bad for me." Kurt sneaks his thumbs underneath the waistband of Blaine's shorts and repositions to pull them below and off his legs. He places a kiss to his infected ankle then the box itself.

"Why are you so obsessed with that thing?"

"It reels me in when I start thinking about how crazy this is. Besides, it's a part of you, Blaine." Kurt teases, like he's rattling off basic mathematics, glancing up at him. It's in this moment that Blaine can confirm that he could positively love this boy sooner than later, if he's judging by the skipping beats and flutters in his heart. "I really like all the parts of you."

Kurt reappears on top of him and pulls one knee to each of Blaine's hips. He pushes Blaine's face to lean on one cheek and brings his own cheek to lean on his face.

"I'll bet you do, pretty."

"Want to watch me get ready for you?" Blaine's eyes go wide and he pushes up to see whatever he can, ripping Kurt's face off of his own in the process. He realizes Kurt's been fingering himself through the whole conversation.

"Oh my God, _Kurt_." This is like every fantasy coming to life. Blaine may be a little bit happier at the reality right now, because he is going to be sore for days. Kurt took him like he had never imagined last night, and he's so lucky to have found Kurt for so many reasons he can't even think about right now, but mostly because he's totally okay with switching.

This stunning older man in front of him is rocking back on his own hand and displaying his entire soul like every feeling is a spectacle, like his very soul is the Mona Lisa and Blaine is the Louvre. His hormones ignite into a fire, ripping at his heart and body and the lower pouch of his abdomen.

Blaine's hands conform to be as one with Kurt's back then hair then scalp, tugging and smoothing and scratching and pulling him closer with the use of Kurt's gold strands of hair. Their lips connect for the millionth time, and it isn't wrong to say Blaine has a legitimate obsession with Kurt's luscious, full, femininely lined mouth. Blaine rubs comforting circles against the man's back and Kurt's forehead crashes into Blaine's clavicle as he pants, sweats, and stretches himself wide enough for what Blaine has to offer. His moans are sinful with the faintest sound of _Blaine_ on his lips.

"Ready, pretty boy?" He bows his head to kiss his hair and his cock twitches when Kurt clamps his fist around the base to change its angle and guide Blaine directly to the Mecca of all things perfect in the world. Kurt lifts up so he's squatting just over Blaine's slit.

"Always." Kurt's hand guides Blaine's cock to rub against his hole and Blaine's eyes are swimming with overwhelming tears as Kurt bends on and over him to insert completely. This _is_ only the third time Blaine's ever had sex.

Blaine is in love with this feeling; there's no condom so he feels the heat rubbing against his soul. He's not sure it'll last, that they'll last, but it's definitely worth everything to try. It's only been a few hours, officially, but he can't help but think that nothing else had ever gone right for him so why should this? It's in the back of his mind, far away from the thoughts of the incredible feeling of Kurt sinking up and down on top of him.

It seems too good to be true that Kurt randomly comes back from a date and all of his opinions about the severity of furthering an age-gap relationship with Blaine changes so quickly and in an extreme fashion. Even if it was legal the whole time, and would have been since the day Blaine turned sixteen in the state of Ohio, the pair is still eleven years apart. Just the fact that Kurt was in the fifth grade when Blaine was born is an overwhelming fact to take in. When Blaine really thinks about it, it's kind of like dating, loving, fucking his brother – or at least someone his brother's age.

"God, _Kurt_." Blaine grits his teeth and folds his ribs in too much and looks up at Kurt with an open mouth, breathing to take the back burner, secondary to staring at his beautiful boyfriend of half a day. Kurt smiles and takes his mouth in his, all the while gesturing to hurry to take his cock in his hands. The agreement is unspoken and Blaine's so inexperienced, so he sheepishly sneaks closer to Kurt's cock and reaches with an open grasp; Blaine's entirely buried in the man who is currently sitting on his most important asset and floating atop his body. It feels so good, so connected, that Blaine remotely believes that his cock might fall off, and he probably wouldn't even mind. Kurt utilizes his calves and quads to sink down and up over and over again in a rhythm that could resolve world wars or even the slightest conflict between friends. It's a give and take of both of their best offerings, all balled up into one single emotion that neither of them could describe if they tried.

Kurt's fingers are latched and tangled, wrapped tightly into Blaine's hair, using each curl as focus on each thrust. Blaine lies still, allowing Kurt to work his magic, absentmindedly with Kurt's cock in his hand like a joystick. Kurt bends at the knees ever so slightly, and it changes the angle drastically. They both moan deep in their throats at the new, deeper, perfect feeling. Kurt slows to take it all in, desperately seeks a regularity that fills him to the brim, all the while pulling in and out on dark, twirling, shiny, dark curls as though they are nothing, unattached to the nerves of every follicle. Blaine scurries his feet even closer to the rest of his body in an effort for Kurt to sink deeper. He thrusts so that Kurt is nearer to him. Kurt's face is inches away after almost crushing Blaine chest to chest as hips do the dirty work. The rise and fall of it all is rather soothing and they find themselves lost in each other with every advance becoming second nature. It's a see-sawed ride of orgasm and sweat and heat and maybe one day love, so that soon they're both coming without so much as an exhale or whisper of a name. It's hitched breaths and silence and gasps and countless kisses while going over the edge together, captivated in a world that's only theirs from here until the end of time.

Blaine's legs fall straight and shaky, and he lets go of all the air in his lungs.

"You are literally the hottest man alive." _Don't you dare ever leave me._

Kurt giggles and scurries off of him, then rolls again so he's leaning his chin to the palm of his hand and has his elbows propped up in the plush of the mattress, crossing one ankle over the other and swinging his legs to and fro like a four-year-old watching cartoons on Saturday morning. "Too much?"

Blaine rolls his neck from right to left to right again and rubs at the crook in a massaging circle before centering his axis again. He sheepishly grins at the ceiling. "Never. God. I'm worried about how sore you're going to be, though."

Kurt collapses and rolls over once more, and they lie there for several minutes. Eventually, Blaine slips his hand into Kurt's and they fall into a slumber again. It's 5:30 in the morning and while that might seem late to Kurt, neither seems to care at all.

* * *

There is a loud knock at the door that doesn't seem to stop for one full minute. Blaine flutters his eyes open and gets reacquainted with his surroundings, grins when he sees Kurt next to him, pulls on whatever pants are balled up on the floor next to the bed, and goes into the hallway to see what the ruckus is. He shuffles to the front door rubbing his eyes and flings the door open to find a fully dressed and impatient Julie.

"Kur- Oh my God, Blaine?"

He grins and opens the door further to let her in. "Good morning, Julie." He looks at the poor innocence in her large chocolate eyes; she's blushing forty shades of purple from the lack of a shirt fitting against Blaine's chest. She's staring, her mouth open only a few inches in astonishment.

"Julie."

"Huh?" She's admittedly gaping at his chest.

Sure, Blaine could probably be a little taller, and without a dollop of gel, he has the tendency of looking like a wild animal with bed head, but he's always thought he's a pretty attractive guy. He always knows when to the take the opportunity to make whoever swoon, especially adorable straight girls pining for him in high school. He stretches his arms high above his head, mostly to show off the definition of his arms and chest; he can't help but tease her. He knows she's attracted to him, in a cute schoolgirl kind of way, and it's really fun to agonize little girls who are nervous when they look into his eyes. His own eyes, however, don't dare leave hers as he rakes his fingers through his afro of curls, lifting an eyebrow in a way he's only learned from George Clooney's vintage work. "Julie, why are you here?"

"Oh! Umm, I need the key from Kurt. We're a little… late opening."

Kurt shows himself, completely clothed with a ring of several keys dangling around his pinkie finger.

"Thank you, Julie. You are the best." Kurt smiles at her; he smiles a genuine, endearing smile for his, umm… _second_ favorite employee. Well, almost. "I'll be down soon, okay?"

Julie nods, jaw dropped in shock, speechless. She turns and exits the apartment, turns to look over her shoulder at the pair, then runs down the stairs to open up and start work, hyperventilating the whole way down.

The only piece of Blaine's body that moves is his arm to push the door closed again and he spins to look at Kurt, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

"Would it kill you to put on a shirt when answering my door?"

"Probably not." Blaine leans in just an inch toward Kurt's face then freezes. Teasingly, he turns away from his new boyfriend and marches back into the bedroom, splaying himself horizontally across the bed on his stomach and plunging his head nose-first into the mattress.

"You are relentless, Blaine." Kurt leans down to kiss the back of his head, traveling to his neck then between his shoulder blades.

"I'm also sleepy. What time is it?" Blaine pulls his face out of the mattress to find Kurt. He smiles at him.

"6:45. You can sleep more then come downstairs when you're ready?"

"Mmmmm, kay."

"And Blaine?"

"What?"

"Happy birthday."

"Mmmm."

* * *

Kurt sighs and hops in the hot shower for the first time in so long, not before taking a moment to remember the planes and angles of a teenage back and shoulder muscles. Although they've only known each other since May, and they've only had sex a few times, Kurt takes the time in the shower to really think about what he's getting himself into. He needs normalcy, and right now it's more of an obsession. He needs to talk to Blaine so they can tone it down a bit. He wants to get to know Blaine, really get to know him. He wants to take it slow and start back at the beginning. He wants to analyze text messages and get giddy at the new prospect. He wants a normal relationship that grows gradually until there's no turning back, not something completely backwards starting with raunchy, over-the-top sex and teenage boys splayed over countertops.

He gets lost in his thoughts; he's startled by a knock as he's primping the last of his hair with a dollop of gel in the full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door.

"Pretty? Can I shower here?"

"Of course." He pulls the door open so Blaine can come in; the boy is standing there with a plastic shopping bag and a rubber band. "Ummm…"

Blaine winks and places a peck on his lips carefully. He sighs and sits on the lid of the toilet bowl, crosses his locked-in ankle over his other knee and wraps it intricately with the plastic, securing it with the rubber band above the Achilles' heel.

Then it clicks for Kurt. Obviously, Blaine can't get that thing wet.

"I'll leave you towels on the sink. Use anything you need."

"Use _me_, pretty boy."

Kurt blushes and grins and Blaine begins to slide off the boxers with no concern for privacy.

"I'll see you downstairs." He raises an eyebrow and heads into the foyer for his shoes before plummeting down the stairs to the coffee shop, shaking his head and grinning all the while.

Yeah, Kurt could get used to this. Eventually. Down the road. Later.

* * *

It feels like only seconds before Blaine waltzes in, smelling like Kurt's body wash, wordlessly picking up an apron and tying it around his waist with enough force to cut off circulation. He ignores the hat again and greets Julie by rubbing her arm innocently while she's in the middle of helping one of her favorite customers.

She has to stop and revel in the contact, blushing up to her ears before turning back to the customer and politely asking him to repeat his order.

Blaine heads to the back room where Kurt must be and leans on the door's frame, peaking around it with his hands up to his face.

"Hey, pretty boy. I'm here. I see the counter got cleaned up."

Kurt looks up from his schedule etched in pencil, trying to fit Blaine into an attempted rotation. He grins.

"Hey. That was fast."

Blaine shrugs. "Where ya want me, boss?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow as his mind resorts straight back to the gutter of the countertop last night; his eyes drift to the area subconsciously but Blaine catches it. He laughs. "I'm just gonna go bother Julie, then. She wants me bad, you know." Blaine winks and leans down for a quick peck on the corner of Kurt's mouth before heading back in Julie's direction.

He watches the boy leave and mulls over exactly the level of resistance it takes from his body to not ravish him right here in the middle of a moderately busy time at the coffee shop.

Kurt shoves the eraser at the pencil's tip in his mouth and balances it between his teeth, strumming his finger on his desk to the rhythm of the music overhead. He concentrates again on the schedule in front of him. It's seconds before his mind wanders to Blaine again. He just can't get enough, but he definitely needs to figure out a way to lead Blaine back two or three steps.

"Blaine?" He calls, shoving the chair backward to go meet his boyfriend's eyes. "When did Santana say you start school again?"

"Uhhh, Monday?" He looks up at the man from his gaze toward the cash register over Julie's shoulder. He's shadowing her, trying diligently to memorize where each button is.

Julie looks like she's shaking. He laughs and shakes his head at the interaction. How is Blaine so endearing, adorable, and drop-dead sexy to make boys and girls of all ages swoon, all at the same time, and even when he has no clue what's going on?

"Is three shifts during the week okay? Can you handle that and your studies?"

"Yeah, whatever you need, Kurt. I'll make it work."

Kurt nods and looks at him with nothing but lust. His hooded eyes are darker than usual but Blaine knows this look. Evidently Julie does as well; her blush is neon pink all the way down her neck. Poor girl, heartbroken, under a circumstance she can't control, and inserted directly in the middle of it all. Blaine smiles at him sweetly and throws himself back into Julie's attention with the inner workings of a seemingly simple cash register.

"Show me what you got, Jelly Bean." Blaine smiles at the nickname and is convinced he'll make it stick.

Kurt laughs with no sound, only breaths through his nostrils, and slides into Blaine's customary chair from when he was just a customer and leans into his schedule, left fist on his forehead, hunched over and analyzing his work.

Ten minutes go by of working simultaneously when Kurt lets out a yawn. It's not that he's tired, per se; he's blissfully worn out.

Blaine whispers to Julie that he needs a breather and fills a cup of coffee, stirred to perfection, and sets it down in front of him.

Kurt looks up again and takes the cup, tipping it at his lips.

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_. For everything. You're positively saving my life, Kurt Hummel." It's an earnest statement, truly appreciative and honest.

Kurt smiles up at the boy and takes a sip, holding the cup to his lips as he sighs a breath of relief.

* * *

"Blaine?"

Hazel eyes glance upward distractedly from restocking some paper cups from the supply closet in the back. A shining ball of light glistens at the realization of who stands on the other side of the counter, peering through the see-through glass of the pastry cabinet. "Hey."

The two of them were busy in their own Lima Bean tasks, and if Kurt was purposely staying in the back room while Blaine was trained in the front… well, he tried not to make it too obvious. Kurt swears there's a method to his madness, even if he was only swearing it to himself hunched over his laptop.

"You can't work the whole day on your birthday. Come on." Kurt's already got his phone and his wallet from the back room; he glides to the front door and holds it open expectedly, staring back into Blaine's direction.

"I really don't mind, I just wanna learn everything." Despite what's coming out of his mouth, Blaine has shoved the cups where they belong and is gravitating, not for the first time, toward Kurt and the front door.

"Lunch with my boyfriend starts now." Kurt says for only Blaine to hear. "Jules, we'll be back in hour or so. Want lunch?"

"No thanks, I'll probably just steal a croissant or something."

"Take whatever you want. See you." He grins at the girl and watches as Blaine makes his way through the door. Catching up to the boy, he slips his hand into Blaine's and leads them to Breadstix down the street.

Blaine smiles up at him; it's all he could possibly do. Everything is so new and fresh between them, and Blaine is concentrating on taking it all in. After all this time, he's finally getting what he wants out of Kurt with no push back and it's working perfectly for them so far, even if they've only been boyfriends for less than a day.

The one-block walk is quiet, but not in the awkward first-official-date way. It's soothing and comfortable. It's connected; it's good. It's the beginning. Both boys, for once, don't need to say anything at all.

Blaine beams at Kurt with an open mouth when they arrive at the door to Breadstix and curtsies toward him, holding the door open for his boyfriend. His hand quickly finds the small of his back to lead him through the foyer and to the hostess stand, where Kurt glances around the near-empty restaurant.

Kurt smiles at the hostess. "Two please."

"It's your birthday!" Kurt opens his menu. "Get whatever you want."

Blaine doesn't open the menu. Instead, he stares at the godly figure sitting across from him in what's bound to become _their booth_. "Kurt, seriously. Thank you. For everything. You don't know how much all of this means to me."

"No sweat, _lover boy_."

Blaine exchanges a pointed look with his boyfriend, flabbergasted by just how happy he could allow himself to be if he just tries. He takes Kurt's hand in both of his and shakes his head. He lets go and sighs.

"Oh? We really need to be more creative than that, like you said. Lover boy and pretty boy, sitting in a tree… I was thinking of dropping the boy part and just calling you pretty. I mean, maybe it sounds offensive on the outside, you're not offended that's my name for you are you?"

Kurt giggles. "While some may find it sort of offensive, I think it's adorable that you think I'm pretty. Stop worrying about every little thing and pick what you want to eat. We don't have all day." Kurt smiles.

Laughing, Blaine picks up his menu to cover his face completely. After mumbling words that remotely sound like "Hmph, fine," he starts to occupy himself like a toddler by tapping out a beat nonchalantly on the table with his fingers.

Kurt sighs and catches the eye of a middle-aged waiter who's stopped abruptly in his tracks on his way over to their booth. The man scowls and about-faces and disappears into the kitchen. As an instinct, Kurt looks anywhere in the room except for at Blaine. He's so grateful Blaine's back is to the kitchen door; he doesn't need to go bail Blaine out of anywhere today and he knows the boy's reaction to the homophobia would have been less than acceptable.

Ohio is always going to be Ohio; Kurt knows this like the sun in the sky. He's not sure if the waiter forgot their waters or he is refusing to serve them because they were holding hands moments before. He's not sure if it has something to do with the clear age difference (although Kurt still likes to believe he appears at least a few years younger than he really is – call it a quarter-life plus three year crisis) or if their heart eyes are displaying true feelings for one another.

Kurt deserves to be happy, as does Blaine. Blaine deserves happiness and love more so than Kurt, of that Kurt is certain. With everything that Blaine has been through with his poor excuse for a father, Blaine deserves the world. Come to think of it, both have gone through so much of the dirty path and Kurt only wishes for them to make it out relatively unscathed, and most importantly, alive.

Kurt is definitely taking a sincere chance on Blaine, but at least he's willing enough to do even that. Had it been only two years ago, Kurt would have still had his blinders on. He was hurt and bothered by the glares he'd get when he opened his mouth anywhere, and now he's openly inviting exactly that behavior by being out and proud, holding Blaine's hand at a public location in the Midwest. It's a risk that he's determined to make right, though, because there's just something about Blaine that reels him in, despite all of the issues they've been thrown into together.

Blaine has a chip on his shoulder because he feels he needs it to keep people away from him. It appears that Kurt is the only one who could knock it off freely and with determination to open Blaine's soul up to him a bit more.

But they're doing it far too quickly for Kurt's liking; it's all too serious. It is vastly accelerated, and although it wasn't out of the blue (they'd both seen it coming, subconsciously or not), the level of intensity is still somewhat unexpected. It's starting to get a bit too intense.

The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind, and he needs to gain control on the situation. They need to act like boyfriends of one day rather than ten years, so there's no future resentment of going too fast and too hard. Kurt giggles out loud; there is absolutely no pun intended in his thoughts.

Blaine glances at him over the list of mediocre Italian cuisine that is so far-removed from authenticity, it's embarrassing. He literally waves the younger boy off and they continue to scope out their menus.

Kurt feels like it's zero to sixty and the only way to handle it is to go slowly. Make progress, yes, but steadily. They'd taken each other for all that they are worth just last night and again this morning, rushing into what could easily be identified as a somewhat-serious relationship. He needs Blaine to understand that they should take it slow, not only for each other, but to keep a handle on the overall unacceptance from everyone that surrounds them locally. They need to truly get to know each other so they can become a team of two against the world. It's just one more factor any gay couple needs to take into consideration, especially in a place as weary as this.

"So, in addition to celebrating your legality to buy cigarettes, vote, and have sex with older, very good-looking and sexy and helpful boyfriends such as myself, there's another reason why I'm taking you to lunch."

Blaine's face falls, stabbing Kurt with guilt when it comes to the sadness he's already caused the poor boy. "I don't like the sound of that."

"I think it's good for us in the long run, B. Shut up and listen."

Blaine nods. He could listen to Kurt for days.

"So I think we should maybe slow it down a little bit? I mean- ahh. Umm." Kurt pauses. There is nothing he can accomplish when he's flustered, especially a conversation with his boyfriend eleven years his junior.

"Slow it down?" Blaine's utterly confused. "Slow us down, Kurt? You can't push me-"

"Blaine. Stop. You always get so defensive when what I am trying to say is _good_." He takes the boy's hand again, not caring what waiter or stuck-up conservative in this split-down-the-middle state thinks. "I'm not pushing you away. I'm just saying that we shouldn't… we should date and get to know each other as boyfriends at a much slower pace so we can have a normal relationship that moves forward like anyone else's. Maybe limit our time together, ease into it a little bit, rather than going full speed ahead. We're doing this backwards." He looks at Blaine to make sure he's still with him. "I can feel us quickly becoming fixated on one another, and before that happens, we should make sure that it's what we really want. Do you feel me?"

Blaine nods. "We have to work on your teenage language, pretty boy. Really? Do I feel you?" He grins, before allowing it to drop, turning his face into a suddenly furrowed mess. "Kurt?"

Kurt smiles; he's not sure who he's trying to kid, but he's already captivated in Blaine. "Mmm?"

"I was thinking about that, too. But I have nothing to compare it to, so… Hm, maybe I should only come to the coffee shop when I'm working or something. I'll cheat on you with Starbucks the other days and maybe find another boyfriend who owns the franchise in the mall."

"Oh I have never!" Kurt clutches his heart dramatically.

"Mmmhmm, but I think that's best for us... you know, in the _long run_." Blaine takes Kurt's hand again and tilts his head, a teasing smile plastered on his face until kingdom come. "But really, I get it. I want to make this work. I'm following your lead because you're the only one with experience in the boyfriend department, and so whatever you think we should do for the benefit of the so-called long run, I'm down."

"You're down." Kurt deadpans, blinking, smiling.

"I'm down for it. I'm game, I'm willing to do it. Teenage vocabulary, Kurt."

"Oh, God. I'm dating a teenager." Kurt says with a grin and a twinkle in his eye.

"No regrets?"

"None, whatsoever."

They stare at each other and burst out in a laughing fit at exactly the same second a new waitress comes up to take their orders, complete with two tall glasses of ice water.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Blaine backs off for a while, as much as he can. He lets the natural regression of his relationship with Kurt take its course, slowly but surely texting him more, spending an increasing amount of time on the phone every time he calls. It's a slow process, but he knows that Kurt is right in the reassurance every time he says it'll be great for them in the long run. He's learning how to do this.

Because he's had to distance himself from Kurt, he has to make it back home directly after school for the simple process of survival. He doesn't like the idea of sneaking into his house beyond normal time, so he tries to avoid it, but he's got to sleep _somewhere_. Following the nights of work or detention, he usually camps out in the woods behind his house or in an alleyway off of Main Street. The worst afternoons are when his father's car is in the driveway a little earlier than usual. This means he needs to find somewhere else to go or he needs to take the wrath of his father's fist. He doesn't dare tell Kurt about any of the spontaneous camping trips, if only for the fact that they've only been dating for such a short time and he doesn't want to scare him off with his indescribable amount of baggage. He's convinced Kurt's not ready to take all of it in just yet. Maybe one day… later.

Blaine's first week of having a real boyfriend is a blur, and they stay committed to taking it slow. They text each other somewhat regularly over the course of the days and Blaine only has three shifts at the Lima Bean. He keeps his promise of staying away during the time he's not scheduled for now.

In addition to getting used to having Kurt at his disposal, Blaine also has had to try to get used to the first week of school at McKinley High and he's tried to adjust so far to no avail. The welcoming committee is not there to greet him, and the rumors have spread like wildfire. Every scenario goes through one ear and out the other, from being locked up after blinding a kid, to a homeless runaway, and anything in between. In addition to all the false accusations, there's one fact reeling its way through the hallways about Blaine that he can't, that he won't, deny. Although everything generally would be easier for him if he weren't gay, he feels that it's wrong to hide something so much a part of him to the world. So he lets them talk and he does not give a flying fuck what it is that they are saying.

It's not going to be easy to make friends at this school.

He vows to himself that he'll keep his head down until he's comfortable and is sure to be on time to every class. He observes the other kids and sits alone at lunch; it's easier to hang out with only himself. He works diligently on the make-up work from the first two weeks that he's missed, and manages to stay ahead of the syllabus in every class.

With every terrible day, teacher, rumor, football jock trying to fuck with him, Blaine reaches to his pocket to complain to Kurt. As he's typing out a text message of protest of McKinley, every time, he refrains. Kurt told him to back off, and although he's sure that he would be there for him if he really needed him, he doesn't want to waste the pointless interactions unless he really needs to speak with him. He slips his phone back into his pocket and counts down the seconds until the last bell rings, signaling dismissal for the day.

As soon as each day is over, Blaine's walls crumble to the ground all around him, and even more so if it's an afternoon he gets to spend with Kurt. Kurt has officially softened him, transformed him into putty in front of his very eyes and he's not in a regrettable mindset at all.

He doesn't want to mess this up, especially for being too clingy with his first official boyfriend. He's thought about it a lot and although it is his first partner in his life ever, he's not sure if it's all supposed to feel this amazing, especially this early on in the relationship.

If Blaine is being honest, he definitely agrees with Kurt's sex-related pushback as well. He insists on taking it slow in the bedroom too, because although they've fucked already (a few times), Kurt says he wants to get to know Blaine inside first; he wants to build a relationship from the heart. But Blaine is a very horny eighteen-year-old with stamina to fuck like he means it several times a night, and that he cannot help. To waste that talent would be a travesty, but he holds back and squeezes his balls tight until Kurt gives him the green light to _go, go, go_.

The endeavor toward sublime bliss on both sides of the relationship is no easy feat, Blaine confirms, after only the second shift of the week. Kurt has been driving him insane, teasing and licking his own lips while maintaining a full "you can look but don't touch" policy, at least for now.

"So, are you going to take your time to restock the straws all night, baby, or are you going to come upstairs and get fucked into the headboard until you cry?"

"Shit, Kurt." He breathes, certifying the hard exhale between his gritted teeth. This has to be a cruel, cruel test to keep Blaine two steps behind.

"Well? Whattya say, baby?"

"No. That goes against our keeping our distance rule. And it'll be awesome for us in the long run." He mumbles the sentence as though it's a rehearsed line in an elementary-level play. He's like a child, speaking softly and ashamed. Blaine is beyond sexually frustrated, but he knows it's the right answer that Kurt wants to hear.

"Good boy. Text me tomorrow. I'm going to finish up some paperwork upstairs and try to get to bed early. Your dad around tonight?"

"No. I don't think so. I'm fine."

Kurt kisses his cheek, screams to Julie to lock up, and leaves the premises.

Blaine helps Julie close up, and finds his dad's car in the driveway when he gets home. It's raining. He lies awake in the woods, assuming that each teasing session is placed in front of him as an act of training on Kurt's part to make sure they are still on the same page. That's all well and good, except that Blaine can't stop picturing his own body crying, begging, pleading while being rammed face first into a wall, impaled by Kurt's gorgeous cock – thick, hard as a rock, and throbbing with semen making its way to the surface at exactly the correct pace for them both.

* * *

_October_

The days and weeks blend as they always have, but with less dragging now that Blaine has a purpose to carry on in Kurt. The cycle continues with small details added into the mix: mounds of homework and actually making and selling the coffee for a profit instead of only drinking it, but still Kurt and Blaine. _Always Kurt._ The boys have loosened up on their stay-away rules a bit, but still making progress into the level of comfort slowly so that they can make it all work long term.

It's been a shit day, so Blaine takes a chance. This is the first time he's showing up without being scheduled to work and he's a little nervous that Kurt will turn him away. Blaine feels like it's okay, considering the day he's had, and he really just misses his boyfriend after everything. It was an especially trying bain of his existence at school. One of the football guys slushied him because of his recent interactions with Tina-Cohen-Agitator. Blaine wound up breaking the kid's nose and he was suspended for a few days. He knows Santana will find out; he might as well just tell Kurt so he doesn't hear it from anyone else. Still, he's pissed because he wouldn't have fought the pack of hyenas if the slushie wasn't dropped on his head right before lunch.

* * *

Kurt's mopping up what appears to be a spilt mocha just inside the front door when Blaine arrives straight from being suspended from school. It's a sunny day, but still obviously autumn with the trees surrounding downtown Lima in a rainbow of a harvest palette. Reds and oranges fade into yellows and greens and the only color that's missing is the ice blue of Kurt's eyes. Blaine calls it complete when he gets to stare into them as Kurt looks up at the sound of Blaine's knuckles rapping on the door to get his attention so he doesn't knock him over when he pushes through.

Kurt looks and lights up at the beautiful sight. He pulls the door toward him, allowing Blaine access to their workplace in common, their safe spot to enjoy each other on a limited basis.

"Hey baby." Blaine reaches for a quick peck and Kurt meets him halfway. So far, this is exactly the right choice.

"Hi, honey. How was your day?" There are more people than usual at this time now that the college is back in session, but it's not packed by any means. Kurt's handling it by himself, and seems surprised to see Blaine two hours before he normally comes through.

Blaine shrugs. "Need some help?" Blaine takes the mop from Kurt and smiles, taking over the chore. "I feel like all the teachers get together and gang up on us, all assigning homework at the same exact time with all the same due dates. It's really fucking annoying. I also hate everyone who plays a stupid sport in that school; they're all cocky assholes who will never ever leave this town even to go visit somewhere cooler. Also, on the list of Blaine and the no-good-terrible-whatever-day, I broke more than one nose today in a defiant act of self-defense, but I'm here to do homework because my dad's probably home, that okay?" He looks as though he might cry. It's been a horrendous day. "Please pretty boy, I know we're supposed to be taking it slow and all that, but I literally have nowhere to go and I'm pretty sure my dad's home, and I only want to face you right now."

In lieu of a response of permission, Kurt helps him take his bag off his shoulder and pulls him away from the door, mop and all. Kurt sent Austin home when it had been dead for more than three hours earlier in the day, and Julie being on vacation is not helping. Although it's moderately busy, Kurt handles himself well. He wraps Blaine in a hug and rubs his back in circles.

"How many noses are we talking?"

"The football guys tried to slushie me. I guess I sort of let him slushie me and then gave them all what they deserve." Blaine shutters from rage and looks up at his boyfriend.

"How many were there?"

"I don't know. Like four, maybe? Only one broken nose though, I think." Blaine nods, mostly to himself.

Kurt laughs a little with no noise and holds his lips to the boy's curls. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"Mmmm, well my availability for the coffee shop might have just opened up during the day for the rest of the week?"

"Oh, _Blaine_."

"Sorry."

Blaine smiles sadly when Kurt sighs, the stress drawn into his forehead failing to disappear. He was nervous that Kurt would turn him away because he isn't scheduled to be here tonight, but of course Kurt would never do that when he most needs him. He turns away from Kurt to place his bag properly on his usual table. Kurt advances and comes up behind him, burying his own hands in Blaine's front pockets, hooking his chin to his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

"I missed you."

Blaine leans back into his boyfriend's chest and nuzzles. "High school sucks. But that super-dork History teacher gave me something for you! What's his name again?" Blaine bends just a little out of Kurt's hold to retrieve the envelope from his bag and the new angle has Kurt wanting.

"Schuester."

"Right, Schuester. He's such a nerd and he's always like, patting me on the shoulder. I think we should file an actual complaint."

Kurt looks at him and blinks.

"Anyway," Blaine continues, "Douche Lord said that the invite got returned to sender."

He turns to his boyfriend and extends the envelope in his hands with a smirk on his lips. Kurt takes it and opens it carefully to reveal an invitation for the McKinley High Alumni Gala.

"How does he know we know each other? And I'm definitely not going to this. I keep up with everyone I need to."

Blaine smiles and closes his eyes in the arms of his boyfriend.

Kurt throws the invitation down on the table and removes his hands from Blaine's pockets to wrap his arms around Blaine's neck, crossing at his wrists. Blaine's hands shoot up to Kurt's, needing to feel the faint touch of fingertip to fingertip. "We can stay home and cuddle?"

Blaine shrugs. "Relax, pretty boy. He only knows I work here. He is not aware of our cuddling escapades, I promise."

"That is not what I meant! I mean… are you, Badass Blaine Anderson out to kill the world by way of scowl, in _Glee_ _Club_?"

Blaine looks at him like he's actually crazy. "Hell no. I mean when you guys were there, I'm sure you were rock stars and ruled the school and all that but no. Those kids are seriously lame."

"Anderson! You quit? Who the hell is going to report back to us about how lame Butt-Chin Pube-Head still is? Think about us here, Blaine!" Santana approaches them, the click of her shoes getting louder with every step.

Blaine pipes in, holding a finger in the air. "Hey, Stiletto-Breath. I gave it a shot, like you told me to. It's extremely lame and I have an intimidating reputation to hold." He twirls out of Kurt's hold and winks at him; he's feeling a lot better than five minutes ago and his day is already brightened in Kurt's presence. "I only lasted a day. Seriously lame."

"Do you know that we are the age that he was when we were there? I forced Anderballs into it since he needed an extracurricular anyway and I really didn't want him to start a fucking fight club or something, because then I'd never hear about it."

Blaine interrupts her. "Shit! Why didn't I think of a fight club?"

Santana blinks and cowers a bit when Kurt gives her a pointed look. "Anyway! I'm still not convinced that it's not really a court order, for the record. They just wanted you to get hurt in football or something." Santana waltzes even closer to them so she doesn't have to scream across the floor, but turns at the last minute to stride directly to the cash register. "What's your new extracurricular that you need so you don't get arrested, then?"

Blaine preens. "I started a book club. Of which no one at that stupid school will join so not only am I president, but I don't have to hold official meetings either because there are less than three members. Try to prove to me that I'm not re-reading the classics, Striptease." Blaine's obviously proud of his plan.

Kurt and Santana are both staring at him in complete disbelief.

"Santana?" Kurt stage-whispers the words, trying to pretend that Blaine can't hear the conversation.

"What?"

"That's kind of a genius plan. It's like…"

"A mockery to the system?" Blaine grins.

"It's perfect. Just make sure someone can fucking attest to you being a member or whatever. I don't want to hear it from those assholes at the court about how you're not abiding by your probation again or whatever."

Blaine sighs and nods. "Yes, mom."

"You both do still work here though, right? And I'm so not going to that stupid reunion shit either. I don't need to stand around in the gym with you like we're at fucking prom, discussing the dreams that came true for one Rachel Berry." Santana flings her arms around dramatically and rolls her eyes. She rings the bell by the cash register repetitively. "Does anyone work here!" She yells into the back room, knowing that Blaine or Kurt will take care of her right away.

"Rachel Berry? Like, that hot girl on that one singing show?"

Kurt rolls his eyes and pushes Blaine toward the counter. "The very same."

"How the hell do you guys know her? She was my one and only girl crush."

"Ah, the loft on Irving Street. She was the third New York roommate. Ditched us in a time when we both needed her the most. Kurtsie here got the Lima Bean from her dads and I got a hug and a postcard from Los Angeles."

Blaine blinks, shaking his head and laughing. "You would know her. Of course you do." He makes his way behind the counter.

"I can't believe Schue doesn't talk about her every damn day like she has sunshine shooting out of her ass with every step." Kurt adds, only a little bit bitter. There's a beat. "Wait. What do you mean we would know her?"

"Not in Glee anymore, remember? Who the fuck knows what he talks about every day, lame ass motherfucker. I mean… of course my boyfriend and my parole officer know each other since like, birth. Let's throw in the only girl I'd ever have sex with, too!"

"That's disgusting." Santana laughs, "Grande Caramel Dolce, please, my favorite little lawn gnome." She flutters her eyelashes and waits, checking an email that comes through on her iPhone.

"That really is seriously disgusting, B." Kurt's face is turned up as though he's actually picturing Rachel and Blaine together. He shudders.

Blaine dramatically sighs and goes through the motions to produce a perfect Caramel Dolce Latte, knowing very well just how much Santana loves the extra care. This is more as a favor to Kurt than agreeing to work tonight. He has two papers to write before next Tuesday and he's not happy about it.

Kurt watches him fondly and giggles when Blaine catches wind.

"Why aren't you saving teenagers' lives right now, Lopez?" Kurt approaches her and smiles.

"Hummel. You know we can't all be slutty superheroes on the CW like Berry."

Kurt gives her a pointed look. "Jealous she actually gets paid for looking half as good as you?" He grins and crosses his arms.

"I am very happy here in Lima with you fine ego-stroking lords of the gay. No more Rachel talk; I'm over her. And, for your information, I'm in between appointments. And technically, I have to check up on this one." Santana nods her head in Blaine's direction and winks.

Blaine shudders and looks to Kurt for help, who just shrugs and ducks his head to hide yet another childish giggle.

"He wasn't even supposed to be here today, so that's a lie."

Blaine passes her the cup he's prepared for her and takes the long way around the pastry case to start on his homework, all the while listening to the conversation. One of his favorite pastimes is observation of the perfect friendship Santana and Kurt seem to have fallen back into after so many years.

Kurt's in his normal chair now, laughing at Santana's idiotic reaction to the espresso being too hot. Blaine sits next to his boyfriend and starts pulling textbooks out, unsure what he should start first. He's lost in thought, reeling through his agenda and mentally remembering the details of each assignment to prioritize appropriately. He's officially tuned out Kurt and Santana's catch-up before her appointment at two-thirty. Eventually the background noise goes mute and the comfortable silence between the three feels natural, only the scribbling of Blaine's pencil being heard. He is too concerned with the rest of his homework to fuck around with Santana right now. He was just granted a mini-vacation and he'd like to spend some of it with Kurt if he allows them to, so he tries to get as much homework done as possible. He continues, half-heartedly listening to their banter that picks up again quickly. He hopes that once this crazy shit with his probation is over, he can really be Santana's friend. She is absolutely hilarious, and she makes Kurt happy. That's all he could truly ask for in a friend.

Santana eventually bids her goodbye and heads to her next appointment, hugging Kurt and humping his leg lightly and playfully, holding him tight.

"Oh my God, Santana. Get out." He pulls away, trying to hide the laughter in between each word.

"Later, boys. And B, FYI, I know you got suspended. Call you after this other kid verbally abuses my mind, body, and soul." She waltzes out and heads toward the courthouse.

"Shit." Blaine sighs and hangs his head.

"She's scarier on the outside, babe. You'll survive." Kurt snickers and pats his arm lovingly.

Blaine rolls his eyes, self-deprecation at the tip of his tongue. Instead he says, "I always do."

The two coexist for a few hours, Blaine doing homework and helping Kurt out when there is a line more than two people deep. Suddenly, it's 8pm and Blaine should really try to get home if he ever is going to tonight.

He explains the situation to Kurt and against his boyfriend's "bad feeling," he leaves the coffee shop at 8:30 and heads toward home.

* * *

**Kurt: Are you there yet? I still don't understand why I wasn't allowed to drive you.**

**_Blaine: Kurt I literally just left you seconds ago. I'm FINE! Thanks for caring but I'm fine!_**

The night is cool, the epitome of an autumn evening. Kurt insisted on a Pumpkin Spice Latte to go even if the only reasoning behind it was _October_. The playlist he has blaring in his headphones is quickly paced and full of feel-good tunes that he can finally relate to, all thanks to Kurt and Santana easing his mind a bit. He takes an eager sip of his espresso and turns onto the street where he currently resides, tension building in his chest with every step toward the house of hell.

Blaine makes it into his bedroom this time, but barely. He's convinced his luck must be running out, considering this is the third time this week that he's been safe and wrapped in his blankets, falling asleep to the soothing chords of Aqualung.

**_Blaine: Coast is clear… Goodnight, pretty boy._**

The week of his suspension is spent as the summer was, except happy. He curls up with his first edition of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ on one of the couches at the Lima Bean and reads the week away with Kurt's eager permission. He and Kurt take breaks for lunch, for cuddles, for blowjobs.

His mini-vacation is over almost as quickly as it started and he finds himself tapping a pencil against his lip and staring at the clock the following Monday. It's just another day of trying to ignore and be ignored, but not everything happens the way he needs. Actually, nothing really happens the way he needs, not when it comes to school.

* * *

Time crawls by, each second longer than the last until he finally hears the long ring of the final bell to dismiss all the brats and urge them to go back to wherever they came from. Blaine goes to the Lima Bean.

Every spiritless word on his computer screen is staring back at him, mocking him into frustration and the total opposite of self-worth. He's only a paragraph deep into his punishment essay for talking back to the teacher and he's already stuck. Groaning in disappointment, Blaine throws his hands up and tips back in the chair, cursing his life and _almost_ everything in it. On top of the newly assigned ten-pager for mouthing off, he curses Dalton for making him appear that much more educated, thus his four AP classes that make him feel like he's in law school or something. The workload is atrocious and although it can be handled, Blaine really doesn't want to try.

The school year is full-steam-ahead, so the Lima Bean is busy at all hours with study groups and quiet college kids snuggled with their laptops in the corner, headphones smashed into their eardrums without a care toward the world outside of their laptops, Tumblr, and the occasional research paper and studying.

Now that it's been a month since he and Kurt got together for the record books, Blaine has slowly worked up to the daily routine of arriving at the Lima Bean directly after school every single day. He hopes that Kurt doesn't mind, but trusts that he would say something if he did. He greets Kurt with a kiss and a slap on the ass promptly at three every afternoon, drawing out an unavoidable blush of deep red from the older man every single time. He sets his area up with textbooks, a pen, and his notebook, on the same table he's been sitting at since May. It's always otherwise unaccounted for, the reserved sign melting with glitter and bedazzlements still super-glued to the surface. It's _their_ table now. No one can touch it or them or what they have.

* * *

Blaine sits, slams his materials down ungracefully, runs his fingers through his hair as he frequently does, and patiently pauses his brain until his breath is even again. This time, it's a reaction essay on _Moby Dick_. Blaine doesn't even know where to start, especially since he can't stand Ishmael and the stupid, sarcastic "Call me Ishmael." Fuck Ishmael and his not-ironic-at-all stupid name.

McKinley is undeniably less challenging than Dalton could have ever been, but the only problem Blaine is facing at his new school is simply that he can't keep himself from ignoring the idiots, as much as he tries, and it bothers him that the institution's staff turns a blind eye with every altercation.

He's dealt with bullies his whole life – he's _lived_ with them; he's related to a few. He never had protection from his father either, but the difference between home and school is that he never expected protection from the people he lives with. School is supposed to be a safe place for every student, regardless of their background, and McKinley is failing miserably at keeping Blaine out of trouble. He tries not to fight back at school; he doesn't want to go to juvenile detention or be thrown into foster care, thus being taken away from the only actual constant he's ever known, Kurt. He's careful, he tries to go unnoticed; he finally has too much to lose in Kurt. He slips up one too many times, hence why he was suspended. He also slips up against teachers, ones that are too boastful to truly care about the work their students produce so they verbally abuse them instead, probably out of jealousy that Blaine is better at whichever subject they are trying to teach than the teachers themselves.

As Halloween approaches and every coffee shop this side of Summerland, California, is knee-deep in pumpkin anything, Blaine shifts into a routine that hardly involves his parents' house. He returns sporadically, throwing a full camping duffle of stuff he might need out of his window into the backyard so he can nonchalantly skip down the stairs and retrieve it without anyone knowing.

Against Kurt's better judgment, Blaine shows his face at home every week or so to make a quick appearance, to make his room look a little different in case anyone at all is paying attention. He shifts a few books and moves some things around on his desk. On these days, he makes sure his bed looks lived in and he rotates in a few more outfits into the trusty duffle bag, leaving for school earlier than usual the next morning. It's home base, sure, but he has everything he really needs at Kurt's apartment now. They fall into step with each other, and all seems perfect. Little did Blaine know until it actually happened, he was always looking for exactly that – a comfortable routine with a man he almost loves.

And just like that, Blaine Anderson has kind of, sort of, but maybe not officially, moved in with Kurt Hummel.

The magnet only responds to the source of energy.

* * *

When Kurt comes over to yank Blaine out of his spiraling thoughts, he doesn't mind in the least. Too much has been thrown at him lately and he needs a second to relax into his amazing boyfriend's arms.

Sinking down to straddle his lap, Kurt throws his arms around Blaine's neck gingerly. He rubs at the back of his younger boyfriend's hair, scratching at his scalp in a therapeutic gesture.

"Hey, nerd."

Blaine smiles. The pet names drive him insane in the most erotic way possible. It's something he never realized he would want.

"You look like you're going to combust into flames over here. No pun intended." Kurt grins, "Penny for your thoughts?" He says, delivering a gentle kiss to Blaine's nose.

Blaine releases his pen, throwing it down on the table Kurt is wedged against and takes Kurt by the hips. "Just thinking about when all of this good is going to blow up in my face. And why my extra credit involves the Harry Potter series, when my classmates can't even pronounce Azkaban or Voldemort. Or Hermione. Or, fucking Luna Lovegood. Or Pot-" He gestures his hands to show the environment they've submerged themselves in together at the Lima Bean. They are an adorable, out and proud couple with a perfect daily routine in a sea of people taught to hate exactly that, and yet they are happier than they've been in quite some time.

Tilting his head and furrowing his brows, Kurt's worried. "I'm not sure if Voldemort is a real word, baby, but why do you feel like everything's going to blow up in your face?"

"Come on, Kurt. You can't possibly believe that there's never going to be a problem in my life again! With my family and all that crap?"

Kurt shrugs. "There's good and bad in everyone's life, Blaine. We'll deal with it when it comes... together. But _now_!" He holds out the "ow" sound for dramatic effect, "_Now_ is not that time, B."

"True. Want to know why? It's because… as much as I want you to straddle me for the rest of the night and we could make out and have hours of glorious sex, I, for one, need to concentrate on finishing this stupid fucking essay so I can start on my other two, because I can never shut up and the teachers at McKinley piss me off so bad collectively that I can't control what comes out of my mouth ever so I wind up having to write ten pages by tomorrow on why I misbehave and call teachers worthless Lima Losers with no dreams. Which, by the way, is totally true. Have you met Will Schuester? The point is that I have maybe a paragraph that I'll wind up deleting in five seconds. So I've written nothing. For public school, the workload is really fucking annoying, pretty boy. It's not as hard as Dalton, but it's been more time-consuming and that's what makes it annoying. I'm working almost as much as I used to at Dalton." Blaine looks at Kurt for a response and huffs when he sees his expression. Kurt's nodding with a lifted eyebrow, almost amused in Blaine's pain and frustration.

Kurt rolls his eyes expertly throughout the speech at all the right times. "Good God, you are a whiny teenager!" He kisses him to mute what's bound to be an immature, snarky comeback and continues. "First of all, that's the most I've ever heard you say, like ever. And second, you have to stop talking back at them, baby! Just stay under the radar and then graduate and you can disappear from this hellhole. You're too close to let them mess your future up, and they have no problem fucking you over, trust me. My friend, Noah. He was just like you when we were at McKinley and they all gave him so much shit because he had opinions."

"Going far away doesn't really sound so appealing anymore." Blaine kisses his boyfriend, long and hard to make sure he knows the reasoning behind his last spoken sentence. He feels homophobic owl-eyes on them. He'll care about it never.

"We'll figure it out, lover boy."

Blaine laughs from his belly. "Shut up."

Before the discussion with his father about how Columbia would never, in a million years, allow him to enroll, Blaine always wanted to go to college but for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to escape Ohio and use college as a crutch, as a bridge to get as far as he can.

College is completely off his radar now – he knows his father is right; they'll never let him in anyway. Blaine's not sure what the future holds, but he's not going to dwell on what comes next when right now is perfectly fine.

* * *

_November_

Blaine pushes at the door with his elbow, balancing a bottle of Diet Coke, several paper plates, and napkins atop the pizza box. Austin follows him to the back room with the smell of deliciousness and Blaine sets it down on the chair next to Kurt's desk. He kisses his boyfriend hello even if he just left ten minutes ago to pick up dinner for the boys.

"Get out of here, you little scoundrel!" Blaine looks at Austin pointedly. Austin and Blaine have somehow become pretty good friends in the time since Blaine has started working at the Lima Bean. He's proud of the fact that he actually has a friend or two, despite all his walls that are still up for everyone except Kurt.

"Come on! You said I could have some."

"Yeah, but you're following me around like a fucking child, Pierson. Give me a damn minute!"

Kurt's amused. It's truly perplexing how Blaine could be friendly with so many different types of people and still get away with his bad-boy persona. If it were him, Kurt is sure he would just look and feel like an idiot. "Children. Relax. There's enough for everyone."

Austin runs out and gets three Lima Bean branded coffee cups, ignoring the tops next to the stack. He plates his own food and brings it over to Blaine's table. "Guys, there's no one even here right now! We don't have to eat all cramped up back there!"

Many students at the local college who normally house the Lima Bean are suspiciously not here, so Kurt takes it as a nice break for everyone at the coffee shop too, considering they've been busy since school really picked up weeks ago.

So only Kurt hears Blaine's reply, "Maybe I want to be all cramped up and pressed against each other." He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that's supposed to be sexy but only comes across as ridiculous.

"Do you now?" Kurt throws an eyebrow to the heavens and smirks.

"Tonight?"

Kurt pats his shoulder twice as a "thank you for dinner," plates his pizza, and joins Austin at the table. "See you out there, killer."

Blaine calls out again, "Tonight, Kurt?"

"Tonight, Blaine."

"I don't even want to know." Austin says, mouth full.

With a satisfied smug grin, Blaine joins them and takes a bite, demolishing half a slice in his mouth. Kurt watches him in astonishment as he eats the rest of the piece in all of five seconds before ungracefully confiscating the rest of the pizza from the back room and propping it up on the table behind them. He takes another slice and sits back down next to Kurt. He places a hand on Kurt's upper thigh, rubbing tight circles directly above the bend of the knee, and concentrates on the next slice. When that's not enough for Blaine, Kurt feels Blaine's ankle with the contraption attached tangle with his own and they sit like this as normal.

The jingle of the ribbon and bells startles Kurt out of his trance gazing at his boyfriend. Austin volunteers to go, and approaches the cash register to help the customer in need of the caffeine fix or sugar rush.

"Blaine. I love you."

Blaine looks up and freezes, mouthful of cheese and sauce exploding at the corners of his mouth. He chews slowly, swallows prematurely, a visible chunk sliding down his throat like a detached Adam's Apple.

"You… you do?"

Kurt shrugs with one shoulder and smiles with half his mouth, "I do."

Blaine nods slowly, letting it sink in. He really concentrates on the sound of the words and the way Kurt's mouth moves when he says them. To Blaine. Because he loves Blaine. _He loves me_. "Whoa."

Blaine stares at his boyfriend. _Now what?_

"Kurt, I-"

"Don't." He takes his hand and rests both on his own thigh. "Don't say it until you're absolutely sure. I just needed you to know that I love you. Because I do, I love you."

"I am crazy about you. I'm just not… I'm not ready yet."

"Hey. I get it. You have a lot of things you need to work out with that word, your parents… I know that. Okay?"

Blaine nods and smiles faintly.

Kurt grins as his entire face lights up in bright shades of glistening blues and greens. He cups the boy's cheeks, stealing several pecks and kisses from all over his face. Blaine's the one to start kissing a soft lingering kiss on the top of Kurt's nose, like he always does for him.

"Thank you! Enjoy your night, sir!"

The customer Austin had just provided a latte to takes a sip and moans at the perfection of the ratio of cream and espresso and foam. He situates himself into a plush chair across the shop and stares at Blaine. The boy meets his eyes and jumps back from Kurt on instinct and his shoulders roll into themselves.

"That rich dude just gave us a bitchin' tip!" Austin slams back down into his chair and continues devouring his pizza.

Blaine's face is pale; his hands are shaking uncontrollably and his eyes get shifty as he turns away from Kurt and pushes his chair all the way to the corner of the table. He looks back to his father.

"B? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you choking?"

His eyes shift to Kurt's, tears pooling at the base. "My… my dad."

Kurt looks from Blaine to Christian with purpose. It takes a minute for it to click, but when it does, Kurt turns into a mad man. He throws himself up out of the chair and sharply crosses the room to where the lawyer sits, reveling in his coffee.

"You. You are not welcome here." Kurt pops a hip and folds his arms across his chest.

"I am a paying customer, enjoying my coffee in this fine, although a bit too flamboyant for my tastes, establishment. I can be here, actually." Christian Anderson has received the reaction he'd expected out of exactly who he baited in the first place. He twists the knife. "Although, I must say that there are some… implications as to how you are living your life, Mister Hummel."

Of course Christian Anderson knows all about Kurt. He never enters the ring without the needed research already done and tucked under his arm.

"And what might that be?" Kurt's face is getting hotter by the minute, his voice getting higher with every word spilling between his lips. He's barely conscious to Blaine tracking him over, pulling on his sleeve, and uttering nearly unheard words of encouragement to just leave it alone.

"Baby, come on. He's not worth it, come sit with me. Kurt." He pulls again for good measure, fully aware that Kurt is not going to budge. _"Pretty boy, _please." He breathes.

"Oh, that's fucking adorable, Blaine."

"Leave us the fuck alone, Dad. Just… get out."

"Like I said, paying customer." His father holds the cup of coffee up to him.

"He has the right to refuse service and that's exactly what he's doing. Please, just go." Blaine's sandwiched himself between his father who is now standing (_when did that happen?_) and Kurt, poor shaking and not-so-confident-and-cool Kurt. Blaine's hands are behind him and trying to push Kurt away by his chest. His head is down so he doesn't have to look his father in his eye.

Christian chest-checks Blaine, forcing both Blaine and Kurt to step back swiftly, magically catching their footing before they topple on one another.

"You are a fucking pedophile, Hummel, and you're the only fucking reason why my boy is still gay, you fucking faggot! Has your little fuck buddy told you that his father is the best fucking lawyer Ohio's ever known? I will skin you alive, you watch your faggot back, boy!"

Kurt freezes, standing even more still than he was before. His skin pales too much, and he's immediately pushed back into all of his high school memories of lockers and bruised ribs and painkillers missing from little orange bottles on his nightstand in Burt Hummel's house. More than any of that, though, _pedophile_ rings loudly in his ears.

"Do not fucking talk to him like that! How dare you come into his business and disturb his night like this. Harass me all you want, I don't give a shit. Do not say one more word to _him_." Blaine says through gritted teeth. It almost feels liberating, like the words spewing out of his mouth were ones that needed to be said for a full decade. He takes Kurt's hand protectively and makes sure his boyfriend is standing behind him. Their elbows extend but their hands don't let go of each other as Blaine approaches his father and tries to stand taller to meet his dark, angry eyes. "Besides, get your damn facts straight. He's not a pedophile and you know it. I'm eighteen, and even if I wasn't. He'd still be safe if I was seventeen, Dad. You know that. So fuck you and stop trying to scare us. It doesn't work, not anymore. Now leave."

"Wow, it seems as though even stupid little faggots who will never set foot in Columbia can read up on the laws, huh kid?" With that said, Blaine's father does the unspeakable. He opens the top to his steaming hot latte and dumps it directly over Blaine's head. Christian Anderson storms out, drifting away into the darkness.

Blaine crumbles to the floor with a scream, the burning sensation searing through the skin of his otherwise flawless face. Kurt crouches immediately, and turns Blaine's head gently between his hands.

"Shit! Let me see, baby. Are you okay?" Kurt cradles Blaine's head in his lap trying to see how severe the burns are.

"What the actual fuck! I'm calling 911." Austin announces, scrambling to the back to get his phone.

"NO!" Kurt and Blaine both scream in response. Austin just doesn't understand the repercussions that would be involved with submitting a police report. He freezes and stares at the two.

"No, man. Thank you, I'm fine. It wasn't that hot." Blaine sits up and looks at Austin then Kurt.

His skin is splotchy and, although burned, it's definitely not a second or third degree. Austin fetches the burn cream in the First Aid Kit at Kurt's instruction as his boss gets his boyfriend back to the table to further examine the wounds.

"Stop it, Kurt. I'm fucking fine." He turns away from the cream and the helping hand of his boyfriend. He's not looking him in his eye, and it seems like his walls are back up.

"Blaine… please don't shut me out."

"Get the fuck away from me. Please."

"At least put this on so they don't blister." He opens Blaine's clenched fist with effort and puts the single packet of burn cream into his hand before closing the fist back up and patting his fingers. "Head upstairs and get changed. I'll be up after you've calmed down a little, yeah?"

The first time Kurt saw this side of Blaine was the very first day they met. Bruised and battered, Blaine was hiding from the truth even if it was written in purple all over his body. He shuts down after his father embarrasses him, hurts him, leaves him for dead. It's a defense mechanism, and as much as Kurt wants to help right now, he stands and goes to the back room like nothing ever happened. He knows that this will help his boyfriend in the long run. He hears the jingle of the bells and can only assume it's Blaine headed upstairs to the apartment as instructed.

* * *

"B?"

"Mmmm." Blaine looks at his boyfriend through the mirror. He stops his toothbrush mid-swipe.

They both have a loosely fitted towel around their waists, lying low on each hip bone. Both heads of hair are still dripping wet and their skin is steaming with the tingling sensation immediately following a quick shower together after the angry sex Blaine apparently needed.

Earlier, Kurt left Blaine to his own devices in order to calm down and fix himself up without being embarrassed. He's learned in the months they've known each other that Blaine shuts himself down at the faintest hint of mortification, so he left him alone until Blaine texted him that he missed him. Events like today don't happen often, but when they do, it's heart crushing for everyone involved.

"Earlier when you told your father I'd be… safe… even if you were seventeen? What does that mean?"

Blaine smiles, blissed out and better from earlier, all thanks to Kurt. Kurt reminds him of someone his own age sometimes, he swears it. It's endearing when he allows his inner teenager to come out. Blaine absently wonders if he's endearing all the time since he's currently a teenager. He hums and spits. This conversation needs to happen with a lot less toothpaste.

"Well, when I was trying to, um… get you." He pauses at Kurt's breath hitching and tilts his head. "You like that, pretty boy?" Laughing, he shifts backward. Kurt's hands are immediately sewn to his hips.

"When I was trying to persuade you to be my boyfriend, I looked up a few laws. Turns out legal age in Ohio to fuck is sixteen."

Kurt gapes at him for a second, sputtering every time he opens his mouth further to say something. Anything.

"To answer your most eloquent question to date," Blaine teases and loses his toothbrush to the sink, and takes Kurt's hands and rubs them up and down his own hips, "I didn't tell you because I was playing a game with you at first."

"A… a game?" Kurt hooks his chin to Blaine's shoulder. The entire conversation is taking place through a foggy post-shower mirror.

"At first, I wanted to see if you'd still have sex with me even if it was against the rules."

"That's fucked up! I beat myself up so hard over the fact that I wanted you at all for months, Blaine! It took everything in me to resist you! And then, after we had sex, I thought I was the worst person in the world for doing that to you! Are you saying that I never was in the wrong at all?" Kurt takes Blaine's shoulders so they can finally face each other.

There are two ways this conversation could go and Blaine is aware of the precautions he needs to take in order to keep this positive. He's feeling better now, even after the trying day coming in contact with his father. He'll try jokes. Always jokes.

"You could have Googled the same way I did, pretty boy. Not my fault you're too old to understand the concept of a search engine."

Kurt scoffs and narrows his eyes. "I know your distraction games, Anderson. Don't you dare try to fool me. And for your information, little duckling, I tried Googling it, and I was too scared to know the truth every time because if it wasn't okay, it would have made me want it even more, and if it was, I would have just skipped all the other steps and we would have turned into fuck buddies. I exited out of the window before I could even type it in."

"Fear of the unknown?"

"It worked out to your benefit, now shut up and finish cleaning out your dirty, dirty mouth. Only clean things can become dirty again, you know."

"Duly noted." Blaine grins his most mischievous smile and rushes through the rest of his nightly routine before yanking his towel off and pouncing on the bed while Kurt takes all the time in the world to moisturize and exfoliate.

_Really fucking dodged a bullet with that one, fucking shit._

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"What about that pros and cons list on your computer? Would you say that was part of your research?" He's grinning, teasing, taunting Kurt for all that he's worth

Kurt looks shocked; he's caught. Slowly, his lips turn upward.

"You're an asshole." He blushes and storms out of the bathroom, burying his face in the pillow on his bed and sighs. He'd always wanted a boy who could keep him on his toes, and now he's certainly second guessing those wishes from all the years before. He had definitely wasted plenty of birthday wishes on exactly that. He starts laughing uncontrollably; who knew he'd be so happy with the now eighteen-year-old that was chasing him for months?

Said eighteen-year-old nuzzles next to him and kisses his hair.

"Kurt?"

"What."

"Love you too."

Just like that, all of it is worth it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_Author's Note: Sorry in advance for the craziness that ensues below. Shout out to Athena (klainegettingmarried on Tumblr)… Good luck on your crazy midterms! Hey, tell me what you guys think, will you? This one's a gloriously long and action-packed situation… it's all fiction. You know how I roll! Also, to answer many questions… I am working on a sequel right now and I'm a few chapters in but my thought/writing process is a little complicated so I'm assuming I'll get it out over the summer some time. Feel free to beg for a sooner release date over on Tumblr! Anything you want to see in the sequel? Open to suggestions because I literally have no idea what the hell I'm doing. _

_Also, please go follow CynicalGlee on Twitter. The actual only account getting me through the treacherous hiatus. Winter hiatuses are always worse because it's cold and I have no Glee. Womp. Hurrah! Enjoy!_

School is… _school_. It's bearable, but hardly. Blaine whizzes through his tests and quizzes, as usual, and is still trying to keep his head down and go through the days unbothered. As much as he wants to torment every single one of those assholes he goes to school with, he knows that Kurt is right – he can't let anyone get in his way of graduation. There are people that definitely try, but they are eventually scared away by his intimidating glares and threats. All of the said threats are absolutely empty.

Regardless of how terrible his day is, pushing through the door to the Lima Bean makes him happy every single afternoon. The Lima Bean has become his sanctuary. The owner is his savior, lover, and best friend. All is right in the walls of this world. It's like a fantasy world, complete with positivity and unlimited amounts of caffeine and chocolate croissants. And love; it's pure, unconditional love from a man almost twice his age but someone who has never once judged him or what he's all about. Blaine is happy.

He settles in, spreading out his homework at their table, failing to see Kurt anywhere. When he asks, Austin sheepishly explains that he's gone to the grocery store to pick up some milk. It seems like they are always running out of milk; Kurt should just order enough in the beginning of the week and Blaine's not sure why he doesn't. But that's beside the point. Blaine groans, remembering that he came back that one time with milk _and_ a date. He helps Austin out at the register after punching in and they tag team the line of students and adults alike patiently waiting for caffeine to flow through their veins before they fall asleep right then and there.

The screaming brat wailing at his inattentive parent, demanding to leave, does not help Blaine's headache in the slightest, nor does the crash and high-pitched squeal out of his mother's mouth.

Blaine doesn't hate his job; not even close. He loves that he gets to hang out with Kurt and help him at the shop and be employed by him, especially when Kurt's done so much for him to keep him safe. He loves that Kurt saved him from juvie or worse by employing him in the first place, and he'll be forever grateful. It's just that he doubts they'd be together if that whole _jail thing_ didn't happen. He also thinks that he probably wouldn't be working here all the time if he wasn't forced to by the state of Ohio, because Kurt would have never hired him if he didn't need to.

* * *

Kurt pushes through the door with two heavy gallons of milk laced around fingers of the same hand, and his phone balanced between his ear and shoulder.

"Okay. I will let you know. Love you!" Blaine sees the screen go dark in the nook of his boyfriend's neck but he doesn't move it. Instead, he switches one gallon to the other hand and looks around for Blaine.

"Blaine?"

Blaine's already upright from crouching to concentrate intently on the smashed sugar canister being thrown in anger by the fucking brat with the unapologetic mother. He stands over it to make sure people know there is broken glass.

"Hey, pretty boy. Be careful, there's glass everywhere because some little brat just ruined my life." He sweeps up the rest of the glass and leans the broom up against their table, rushing to help him with the milk. He kisses him on the cheek, takes his phone from the balancing act on his neck and trails back to the condiment station and places the gallons on the countertop there.

"Hi." Kurt's voice is a little shaky, taking his phone back and twirling it between his fingers; he almost sounds nervous, he knows he does. He grabs the milk and starts to fill the appropriate jugs.

"Kurt? What's wrong?"

He looks at Blaine and forces a half-smile on his face. _Fucking adorable._

"Hi. Um, what, do you umm… do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?"

Blaine grins. He thinks Kurt must be _nervous_ because he's inviting him over for a holiday dinner with his family. If it was appropriate to maul his face with his tongue in this moment, he _so_ would right now.

"Hmmm."

"_Blaine_." Kurt looks at Blaine with hopeful eyes and wonderment.

"What are you asking, pretty boy?"

When nothing but a stare comes out of Kurt, Blaine sighs and shrugs.

"Well, I actually have plans already, babe. I mean, I'll know more after we talk about it, but I think I'm having dinner with my _other_ boyfriend and his family. However…" He trails off for effect. "He hasn't confirmed anything with me yet, so I'll let you know?" He smiles bigger and gnaws on his bottom lip, just in case he was too presumptuous in thinking that was what Kurt was going to say. For all Blaine knows, now that he's thinking about it, Kurt probably was going to offer him a ride to the homeless shelter by McKinley. _Shit_.

When Kurt meets his eyes though, Blaine knows exactly what he'll be doing on Thanksgiving. "Mmm. Cancel on him. I'd like you to come with me, if you want? I have a plus one to my parents' Thanksgiving that they host every year and Carole said she really wants to meet you. I want you to meet them. Officially, I mean. Like, as my boyfriend."

"You've told them about me being your boyfriend." It's not quite a question.

Kurt's lips curl upward teasingly as he approaches his boyfriend by the condiments. "Of course I did. I _can't stop_ telling them about you, B. They've been hearing about you ever since we kissed that one time."

"You really want me there?" Blaine raises an eyebrow and fetches the broom again. Blaine takes a step to close the gap between the two and looks up at him, opening his mouth just a hair – enough to know that Kurt is being driven to the edge of the earth, bat-shit crazy – and stares, waiting for the honest answer. Blaine grabs one of Kurt's hips and squeezes.

"Nah. Nevermind." Kurt's smiling; it's a joke. "Are you kidding?" He sighs and takes a deep breath. "You know how much I hate when you believe that you're not wanted. Do you want to come with me to my parents' house for Thanksgiving, baby boyfriend?"

Blaine laughs from his belly. "Yeah. I do. Should we bring something? Something delicious and pumpkin-flavored for dessert, or is that too domestic?" He leans in for a kiss but breaks away centimeters from Kurt's lips, teasing, spinning around with the broom, and finishing clearing the mountain of sugar on the floor below them.

Kurt doesn't verbally suppress his groan of frustration and parades back to his position in the back room. Blaine smirks at the sexual control they have over each other at any given moment, and it feels incredible to switch the power trip every so often. He gives the older man a second to get situated in his office there, then follows his exact tracks.

"Oh, and Kurt?" He's leaning on the frame of the door with a hip popped and an eyebrow drawn toward his hairline.

"Hmm?" He's seated with his legs crossed checking the email he's missed since twenty minutes ago.

"Hey. I missed you today." He perches atop Kurt's higher knee and kisses him with passion on his lips.

"Missed you, too." Kurt declares, hot air being exchanged through slightly opened mouths.

"Love you."

"Love you." He smiles at the boy.

"We have to talk. Baby boyfriend? Really?"

Kurt laughs and hangs his head. "I was really proud of that one."

"Yeah, well." Blaine smirks and shakes his head.

"Come to think of it, we really should figure something else out because I just cannot with the constant reminder that I was in fifth grade when you were born. Now, get back to work." Kurt deadpans but is smiling by the end of what he needs to say.

Blaine snorts. "Aye aye, boss." He winks and disappears, slapped ass and all.

* * *

Honestly, the two weeks leading to Thanksgiving is hell. Blaine knows autumn-flavored coffee is always everyone's favorite, but really with the monstrous amounts of pumpkin things? And the worst thing is, he's obsessed with pumpkin. On top of his work, he can't seem to keep his school work straight and prioritized because he continues to receive extra essay assignments to thoroughly explain his bad-boy ways on top of all his normal assignments and studying. Detention is thrown into the mix the Monday before Thanksgiving; it's just an added bonus to his already-packed schedule. _Strike two._

**_Blaine: Prettyyyyyyyy boyyyyyy…_**  
_Kurt: Baby Boyfriend? _  
**_Blaine: Shut up. I have to stay late at school today and tomorrow…_**  
_Kurt: God Blaine, what did you do?_  
**_Blaine: How do you know I did anything!_**  
_Kurt: Just get here when you can please? We're really busy and already out of pumpkin! Love you!_  
**_Blaine: They're telling me 4:30. SORRY BABY!_**  
_Kurt: What did you do?_  
**_Blaine: Tell you about it later. Love you!_**

Kurt sighs and pockets his phone. He loves the boy, there's no denying it, but why can't he just shut his mouth and stay out of trouble? He needs to have a serious conversation with him when he sees him tonight. Throughout the mixing and stirring and brewing, Kurt allows his mind to wander, fantasizing about their lives together and _Blaine_. He's got Blaine. He has to keep Blaine in check so the next part of their lives can begin.

* * *

Christian Anderson is patiently awaiting his son's departure from school. He's sitting in the driver's seat of his brand new shiny BMW sedan he traded in two weeks ago as an upgrade. He's planted in the student parking lot knowing damn well that this is the door Blaine routinely leaves from. He swears sometimes, that kid has a bad case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. One change in his day and all hell breaks loose. He opens the car door and leans against it when he sees his son rushing down the stairs and out of the building.

"Blaine!" He screams from across the parking lot at his little faggot son. _God, why does he have to be so damn short and petite, so gay? _

Blaine squints to where his father is standing and throws a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Blinking, he approaches his dad but keeps a ten-foot pole between them. If he had an actual one on hand, he would literally put it horizontally between them, inserted into each belly button for stability.

"What are you doing here?"

"Trying to figure out why my son is spitting on a teacher, after I'd gone and sent him to Dalton Academy. Don't you have any manners, boy?" Blaine notices immediately that his father is getting more furious by the second. He instinctively takes two steps backward.

Yeah, Blaine spit on a teacher when he was in his face about texting in class, but it wasn't on purpose. No one would ever believe that he was spitting out words and sneezed and a small ball of phlegm graced its appearance across the old hag's chin. _Sorry_.

"Have a great afternoon, father." He mock-salutes and about-faces, heading right back up the same stairs he just flew down, but is forced to a halt when Christian's hand crushes down on the top of his left shoulder, squeezing and twisting with no possibility to release it from the hold.

"You are coming with me."

"I have work."

"With that fairy ass cockpipe? Hell no. I should fucking lock you in the basement until you're 30, you worthless piece of shit." And he ushers him to the car, throws him in the backseat like the child he is, and slams the door inches from his face as he tries to reposition himself to get out. He would text message Kurt, but he doesn't trust his boyfriend enough to stay out of it. If Kurt showed his pretty face at the Anderson household, especially with the sole purpose to stop his father from beating him up or simply saving Blaine, it would be a lot more disastrous than this is about to be. Blaine thinks about whether or not he should let Santana know he's been captured by the enemy, but quickly decides against it because he wouldn't put it past his father to beat up a girl. So Blaine sits in the backseat, forehead kissing the cold glass, pouting all the way home, and essentially sacrificing his life for the people he loves. He's plotting ways to block his father from hurting him too much this time, but deems it virtually impossible after the trouble he's gotten into at school, and the fact that it's been so long without a proper beating. He thinks this is the time that it might be over the top, as though any of the other attacks weren't.

The ride is full of homophobic slurs, even some Blaine's never heard before, so much so that he could actually put Urban Dictionary to shame. The name calling is all rather juvenile and not thought out at all, although he has to hand it to his father for sometimes being so damn creative in all the variations of the word "cock." _Really, truly impressive._ The BMW sedan comes to a halt in front of the suburban mansion Blaine hates, and his sperm donor heads up the few stairs onto the porch, looking back expectedly when he finds that Blaine is still in the same position in the back seat of the car.

"God! Fuck you." Blaine mumbles under his breath and shuffles up to where Christian Anderson is waiting for him. He's the epitome of angry teenager right now and always in the presence of his father, complete with a scowl overtaking his face and arms hugged tightly around his torso, as if he's trying to protect the blow to the ribs he's inevitably going to get this evening. He follows him into the foyer but does not remove his shoes. He figures he'll need them soon enough for all of the running away that's about to ensue, hopefully successfully, and hopefully for the very last time.

He holds in the hall, conclusively mindful of the padding across the floor and into the kitchen from the other man. His father opens and slams a drawer, swings the refrigerator ajar, and pops a can that's definitely not soda. Blaine is a patient boy; he can stand here in the foyer for as long as it takes until it is safe for him to run. He eyes the keys to his father's car, but quickly comes to the conclusion of refraining from stealing it since Christian Anderson is just fucking hanging around until he has another opportunity to not bail Blaine out of his next holding cell or permanent living space in a windowless cement box. Besides, he's eighteen now. He needs to play his cards just right and not get into serious trouble if he ever wants to get his anklet off.

Blaine moves slowly and carefully back to the front door and grasps the knob. He turns it ever so lightly until it clicks quietly enough for Blaine to be the only one to hear. But, of course, it's like his dad is a damn vampire bat; the man has excellent hearing and definitely some sort of sixth sense when it comes to Blaine's escape route, at least most of the time and when he's not terribly drunk. He's unruffled when he catches Blaine with a half-open door, slowly opening it farther in an attempt to slip out without so much as a squeak.

"Get the fuck back in here." Christian actually growls, and behold in the depths of his throat.

The smack is somewhat expected, as is the fist in the center of his jugular. It feels like pure habit with each kick to the rib, jab to the back of the knees, punch to the head. All of Blaine's predictions become real life as they always do, and although he was prepared for it to happen, he's never, ever prepared for the pain of everything coming together and bruising at exactly the same moment. The carbonated liquid that's thrown at him, the saliva and phlegm that's dripping from his ear, the metal can crushed on impact against the center of his forehead – these are just actions that he has to live with as long as he is Christian Anderson's son, and there's not a damn thing any one person could do about it.

If he's being completely honest with himself, he anticipated for it to be a little more brutal than what he actually got, considering he hasn't given his father the opportunity to really ruin and bruise him in a few weeks, maybe even months. The time has gone fast, Blaine admits, as he lies there in a puddle of spit and sweat and despair. There's only a little bit of blood, only from his nose this time and that's… actually sort of comforting. Christian has fled the scene (or at least the room), as per usual, and Blaine begins the excruciating process of escape. He's bending at the knee, wincing and stopping, bending at the waist, wincing and stopping, bending at the neck… wincing and stopping until he's completely off premises. The weirdest part of it all is that Christian didn't make it hard for Blaine to leave. He has a feeling that very observation is going to come back to bite him in the ass.

After what seems like an actual year and a half, he's up and out and no one can ever argue that this boy is not strong willed and stubbornly determined to stay alive and as safe as possible. He decides in this moment that he's going to ask Kurt if he could officially move in. He prays to a god that he doesn't believe in that Kurt will think that's a great idea, for Blaine's safety, if nothing else.

When he's far enough away from the mansion on the hill, he yanks his phone out of his pocket and dials the most familiar number he's ever had in his possession.

* * *

Ducking in the woods on the side of the winding road into town, Blaine waits for his boyfriend to save him.

"Okay, baby. I'm on Maple. Where are you?" Kurt's voice is shaky; he has no idea what he's about to drive into.

"Just go slow, I'm on the side of the road, just keep coming toward Burger King."

Kurt slows and looks everywhere for his bruised and battered boy. When he finally spots him, he pulls over, throws the car into park, and jumps out.

"I knew something was wrong when you weren't answering your phone, but I thought it was more along the lines of a longer detention or something!" Kurt kneels down to examine Blaine's face. "Oh! B, honey." The look in his eye is pity. "I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again." Kurt helps Blaine get up and into his car. He reaches over the boy to buckle his seatbelt gently and runs around the front to get into the driver's seat. He looks over to Blaine the same way he did when they first met. Like Blaine has been broken.

"Don't look at me like that, Kurt." He tilts his head only slightly to meet his eyes. "Like I'm a little doll."

"I'm sorry." Kurt looks at him again and half-smiles, taking his hand and draping them both over the shift while he drives.

"Blaine? Can I please take you to Carole? It's closer and she's a nurse…"

"I just… please just take me home."

"What? Baby, no! What if he comes back?"

"No, I mean. Your place. Home."

"Home." Kurt takes Blaine's hand in his and guides it to his mouth. He presses his lips to Blaine's knuckles. "Home."

They stay connected the entire way back to the apartment on Main Street.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"Just you." Blaine is leaning against Kurt with a lazy arm across his torso, fingers playing right above the waistline. Blaine's head finds his boyfriend's shoulder, his mouth allowing controlled, short breaths to escape. His slight movements are choppy and careful.

"And you're sure you're okay? You don't need…"

"Just you, Kurt." Blaine's voice cracks with a hint of humiliation from having to repeat himself as if the floodgates are going to burst open at any second. His eyes are dangerously glassy; he blinks rapidly to shy the moisture deep down into his sockets.

Kurt tries to catch his boyfriend's eye, but fails.

"You know, I've never seen you cry." Kurt says at that, noncommittally. "You can, if you want to."

"No one's ever loved me like you do, you know. Overwhelmed with that plus everything hurts." A tear falls.

Kurt's heart breaks for Blaine; he can't imagine growing up with no support from anyone, or feeling alone during the years when a boy needs someone the most.

"You're right, no one could love you the way I do. It's early, but I just… know. Your past has made you into the incredible survivor that you are, Blaine. Don't you dare let anyone tell you any different, do you understand me? I'm so proud of you for getting this far, despite your shitty, shitty family."

Kurt feels the tiny nod against his shoulder. He glances at the boy with the purple eye and the swollen bottom lip and the cut drawing a vertical line over his eyebrow. They lock looks and Kurt smiles. "I love you so much, Blaine. It's probably too soon, but let's move in together. Not just accidently leaving more and more stuff around and never coming to get it? I want you to move in. I need you to stay safe and escape with me."

Blaine removes his head from Kurt's shoulder and takes his hand.

Kurt continues, "I want to be perfectly honest with you, most of it has to do with trying to keep you as safe as it is in my control, but about 25% of it is me wanting to live with my boyfriend, even if the rest of the world thinks it's too soon."

"My, my. Have the tables turned, Hummel?"

"I'll never live that one down." He says with a shrug, "But I want to live with you."

For the first time tonight, Blaine smiles. He nods his confirmation, and Kurt carefully kisses his cheek.

"Good. You're never leaving."

"As he… you know. All that kept me conscious was trying to figure out a way to beg you that I move in officially." There's a pause as both boys take that in. Blaine speaks again, "I'd be dead or in jail without you, Kurt Hummel."

"And I'd be a terribly lonely mess without _you_, baby boyfriend."

If they say anything else for the rest of the night, it's not important because they're with each other and everything is going to be okay. They manage to get Blaine into bed and he falls asleep almost immediately.

* * *

The few days between Monday and Thanksgiving Thursday fly. Kurt and Blaine don't spend too much time downstairs, but Blaine does cut school so he doesn't have to face anyone with bruised ribs and a cut-open face just yet. This was always the issue with his going back to school. Kurt puts in a secret call to his favorite teacher from McKinley, Mr. Schuester, to have him cover for Blaine with the rest of the staff. The teacher doesn't ask, but knows Kurt well enough to know that he has the situation under control. If anyone can seamlessly take care of something no matter how out of this world and crazy, it's most definitely Kurt Hummel. They wish each other a happy Thanksgiving and hang up.

It's Thursday morning and Kurt's since made Julie her own set of keys to the Lima Bean so there are no further interruptions, _especially_ if Blaine is going to be here indefinitely. They wake wrapped in each other leisurely at eight, each eye fluttering open, but squinting back at the ray of sunshine hitting Blaine's face.

"Baby bear."

Blaine opens his eyes again and smiles at the endearment. "Honestly, these pet names are getting kind of ridiculous, Hummel."

"Panda bear, snickerdoodle, honey comb?" Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine's waist gently, still mindful of the soreness and bruising. "Love you."

Blaine shamelessly makes out with Kurt, and Kurt feels the smile against his teeth.

"Still up for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents'?"

"I am. I need your help getting ready though."

"Of course." Kurt removes himself from the covers and disappears into their shared closet and thumbs through the few pieces of clothing Blaine already has at the apartment. He loves piecing together outfits for his boyfriend, although he thinks he'd still look as amazing in a potato sack.

"Just so you know," He yells out from the closet, sorting through Blaine's limited but decent selection of collared plaid shirts. "Carole is probably going to be a mess today. And set a place for my brother. It's hardest around the holidays. Don't take it personally, okay? She's really excited to have you there and might even try to put on a brave face for you. But no guarantees, it's only been a few years."

"Is it hard around the holidays for you too?" Blaine comes up behind Kurt, watching him card through the closet's contents.

"It's always hard." Kurt unracks a shirt and smiles at his boyfriend sadly. "Between Finn and my mom, they'll always be missing from the table, but especially at the Thanksgiving or Christmas table."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blaine struggles in pain to nuzzle closer. He's drawn to the man he loves.

"Later, I think. Post-wine maybe."

Blaine sighs. "Well, in an effort to keep your mind off of sad memories, and in an effort to make really awesome ones, can we go grocery shopping on the way over there? I promised pumpkin-flavored dessert."

"Oh!" He peaks out to look at Blaine, swaying a little to find a decent position for his ribs. "You don't have to babe, Carole… well, Carole tries. I usually just bring a pumpkin loaf or something from downstairs." These are perks of owning a coffee shop with a daily delivery of pastries and breads from vendors.

"Let me? It's a recipe I made up and I've made it every year. It's really good, you'll love it. Especially because we know how you feel about pumpkin-flavored anything." Blaine leaves out the part where he puts it in his mini-refrigerator in his room and saves it for himself.

Kurt nods. "Okay." They smile; Blaine won. "Can I still pick your outfit?"

Blaine laughs from his belly. "Nothing too uncomfortable, pretty boy. Super tight pants are reserved for you today, so I can stare at your unbelievable legs around your family and they can't even deny that you look incredible." He holds his breath and shakes his head dramatically. "And then we can come home and fuck like it's the end of the world, yeah?"

Kurt laughs. "You give me too much credit." He lays out an outfit on their (_their_!) bed and winks. "Take a shower and maybe I'll join you in a few. For the love of God, Anderson, be careful in there."

"Yes, sir." He approaches Kurt and hugs him lightly from behind, hooking his chin on his shoulder.

"Get ready, you little panda bear snookum kiss-face." Kurt turns around in his arms and kisses his forehead and nose before disappearing into the walk-in closet again. "You feel okay? I'll wrap your ribs after you get clean."

Blaine nods, confirming he's the luckiest person on the planet.

They shower, not together because Kurt gets caught up in choosing an outfit himself. They wrap ribs and make themselves even prettier and before eleven, they are ready and out the door. Blaine is easily the slower of the two down the stairs. Kurt recognizes the torture on his face and after some effort of convincing, Blaine is on Kurt's back, rolling his eyes but grinning at the fact that Kurt had officially convinced him to accept an impromptu piggyback ride necessary for getting him to street level in a timely fashion.

"You are ridiculous." Blaine's feet touch the ground again and he smiles when Kurt turns to face him once more. He takes his hand and walks the twenty feet with Blaine in tow into the Lima Bean.

"Best commute ever." Kurt grins at his boyfriend and pecks him on the lips before opening the door and ushering him in.

Austin and Julie both stand behind the counter, racking in the time and a half for a completely empty coffee shop. The countertops are pristine; the food case is neat and clean.

Blaine waddles in before Kurt and goes straight to the Carrie Table and sits sideways on the chair so his legs can rest on the chair next to the one he's seated in and his back can lean against the pole. His eyes clench closed at the new angle his ribs are fighting through.

Kurt sighs, making a pained face, and heads to his employees behind the counter. Making small talk with them, he learns that it's been dead all morning and they've spent the day so far experimenting with new types of winter drinks.

"Is Blaine okay, Kurt?" Julie is such a sweet girl, always more concerned with others than for her own self.

"Oh, he'll be okay, Jules. Just a little… misfortune." He smiles at her over the espresso machine. The afternoon of the terrible accident only a few nights ago, he was experimenting with syrups and flavors until he got it right. He's named this one the "Blaine" because it's a little sweet (white mocha) and a tiny bit savory (gingerbread), has a nip of spice with a sprinkle of a special nutmeg/cinnamon blend he created, and it's served extra hot. Graceful as ever, Kurt glides to the stack of cups on the other side of the station, juggling the top cup until it spins in his hands. He is handed a Sharpie by Julie, seemingly reading his mind. He writes a message to his boyfriend directly on the cup, as if it's a coffee order.

_You are beautiful. I love you._

He steams the milk, pulls the shots of Espresso, finds the foam stencil, and manipulates the cinnamon/nutmeg to be shaped as a heart with the hard contrast of the white foam. He also pours a Medium Drip, just in case Blaine hates the latte. He rushes over to an aching Blaine.

"Babe, if you're not up for this, please just say so. We can go back upstairs and order in."

Blaine looks up at him and grins. "No, no. I'm fine, I promise."

Kurt pushes the latte over to him and looks at him. "This is one of my experiments."

"Yesssss!" He shifts until his feet are on the ground and he's facing Kurt, admires the heart, and takes a sip. "Holy mother fucking shit."

"That bad?" Kurt scrunches his nose.

"Oh my God, Kurt. You are, like, a fucking coffee connoisseur or something. Do you remember when the only thing I could say to you that first day we actually fucking spoke was something about iced tea being too sweet?" Blaine laughs. "I'm such a tool."

Kurt giggles and blushes. After all of this time, Kurt still blushes. Daily. Hourly. He never stops.

"You like?" He takes a sip of Blaine's backup drink.

Blaine leans forward as seductively as one can with frayed ribs. "I love." He puts the cup back down on the table when the bold script catches his eye. He twirls the cup to read the message and he almost feels like he's levitating into the heavens.

"_Pretty boy_." He breathes out the words, cracking them in the middle, and smiles through wetness of his eyeballs.

"I want you forever. Too soon?"

"Forever, but also always?" Blaine abandons the latte to satisfy his thirst within his boyfriend. He sits across Kurt's thighs and wraps his arms around his neck, leaning in so that Kurt's head is positioned perfectly into the crook of Blaine's chin. "We're so cheesy, pretty boy."

"Can't believe it took me so long to get my head out of my ass."

Blaine shrugs with one shoulder. "I wasn't irresistible until I turned eighteen. It's totally understandable." He teases, "And besides, it doesn't matter because right now is all that matters. And we're together now."

"My boyfriend, Socrates."

"Whatever." He laughs. "Can we go?"

"Yep." Kurt bops him on the nose, a gesture to make Blaine get up.

Blaine stands and Kurt follows suit. "Bye guys! You can start closing and leave whenever you're done, okay?"

"Thanks, Kurt. Happy Thanksgiving, you guys." Julie says with that sunshine smile plastered on her face.

Blaine smiles at his co-workers and takes Kurt's hand.

"Come on, pretty boy."

* * *

They find themselves at the local – _insanely busy_ – grocery store where Kurt met Sebastian all those months ago. Kurt's pushing the cart down the baking aisle, and Blaine is riding the cart, sandwiched between Kurt's chest and the shopping cart's push bar. It hurts but there's nothing like being able to rub up against each other and not be looked at twice.

"Almond extract or liqueur if we can find it, lady fingers, pumpkin puree, heavy whipping cream, mascarpone cheese, powdered sugar, cocoa powder, and dark chocolate chips." Blaine rattles off from memory in a giddy way. He's so excited to finally be spending Thanksgiving with an honest-to-god _family_. He's sure this is already the best Thanksgiving ever.

"Mmmm, God Blaine. That sounds perfect."

"It is." He bounces off the cart, ignoring his pain, and stalks up the aisle in search of the very important ingredients.

Kurt stops the cart and pulls it off to the side, watching Blaine gather everything in his arms. Feeling Kurt's eyes on him, he looks up at him and winks, grinning by and large. Kurt approaches to help with the overflowing items in Blaine's arms, and Blaine unarguably hands them off so Kurt can drop them in the cart.

In a noticeably better mood than their time at the Lima Bean, Blaine hops over to Kurt, ignoring the shooting pains through his midsection. "I found almond liqueur! Usually, they don't have it in this God forsaken nothing-state." He places it carefully in the top of the cart usually reserved for a toddler. "We just need the cream and the cheese. But not the cream cheese." Blaine looks up at Kurt like a kid in a candy store, complete with sparkling eyes and a grin to match.

Turning on his heel, Blaine walks down the aisle toward the refrigerated shelves in the back corner of the store. Like there's a string tied between two hearts that suddenly has too much tension before it snaps, Kurt follows the teenager obediently and without words. As Blaine looks back to him and turns the corner to make sure he's still with him, Kurt's phone vibrates and he fishes it out of his pocket to read and answer whatever message one of only a few people could have for him.

As silently predicted, it's Julie letting him know that all is well and they're closing up for the holiday now. She says "Happy Thanksgiving" and "thanks for letting us go early" and Kurt is once again blown away by the gift of Julie's loyalty. He doesn't know a young person, Blaine included, that would be as committed to that job as Julie has been since day one. Kurt's not paying attention to where he's stepping, but slowly following the direction of where Blaine is headed. He looks up three seconds too late, as he's colliding his cart with another. These aisles really need to be a little wider, or Kurt needs to learn how to pay attention to where he's steering the cart within this stupid grocery store.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry! Texting and driving kills, and here I am still doing it!"

She's a petite Asian lady, not a day over forty. Her hair is pin-straight and falls right past her shoulders. She has flawless skin, perfectly chocolate brown eyes and a jaw line that's all too familiar.

"Oh, sweetie. That's okay, we are all so busy today!" She smiles kindly, forgiving him for nearly plowing right through her and her entire Thanksgiving dinner.

Kurt smiles politely and judges her choice of all-organic, expensive options lying in her cart.

She glances into his cart and her eyes light up, looking at Kurt.

"Pumpkin-Chocolate Tiramisu? I thought my son made that up…"

"Hey, Kurt?" Blaine comes back into the aisle, fully believing he's lost Kurt to another guy purposely damaging his shopping cart. That date with that Meer Kat guy will always be a soft spot.

"Mom?" Blaine rushes up against Kurt and slips his hand to intertwine fingers. "Are you okay? Did she say anything fucked up?" Blaine searches Kurt's eyes for pain or despair.

Instead, Kurt's eyes are blown with shock. By the few stories he's heard of Blaine's mom, she didn't really seem too bad. If he met her on the street, as he kind of just did, he would probably think she's pleasant enough to not be offended by the end of the conversation. But by the tense stance shown in front of him, things are getting pretty awkward quickly between mother and son.

Blaine's mother's demeanor changes drastically. "Your father told me about this. I guess it's true, then." She rolls her eyes and draws her face up in disgust toward Kurt. She looks back to her son and sputters, "Are you coming to dinner?"

Blaine scoffs. There is nothing he would want to do less. He bows his head and looks at his feet.

"We have plans." Kurt closes the few inches between them so that they are touching all the way down their sides.

Blaine's mother looks Kurt up and down, curled lip and almost growling. She turns back to Blaine. "Cooper is in town."

"Send my regards." Blaine almost whispers the words.

Kurt is stunned at how deflated Blaine is in the presence of his mom. He knows it was a tough childhood, but he never in a million years would have thought Blaine to be _scared_ of his own mother.

"Sondra?" Blaine's father's voice echoes throughout the aisle and Kurt turns his entire body to focus solely on Blaine. _Of course he's here._

"Stay with me, we'll get through this, don't freak out. He won't hurt you." Kurt is speaking in an almost-whisper, soft enough for only Blaine to hear it. They'll be okay. "Come on, let's just go." Kurt tugs on Blaine's arm lightly so that he's following him down the aisle toward the cream and cheese.

"Fairy fucking pedophile! You watch your bare back!"

Kurt almost hears a giggle from the sweet lady who just bumped into his cart, the lady who spoke of his son like she loved him.

At his father's words toward Kurt, Blaine visibly tenses and growls low in his throat.

"Hey. He's just trying to get a reaction, do not give him one." Kurt grips Blaine's hand so tightly, he's wondering how the circulation of blood is coming through his veins in his wrist, into his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he witnesses the second tear he's ever seen streaming down Blaine's already splotchy face. Kurt guides him as fast as they can walk without Blaine's ribs rubbing against each other, and they stand browsing aimlessly for the particular type of cheese. Blaine only stares at the display; he's shut down and distant from the world. Kurt has experienced this shade of Blaine a few times now and doesn't mind him in the slightest. He focuses on the task at hand, finds the cheese, and holds it up for Blaine's approval.

"This okay?"

Blaine graces him with the slightest movement to his head, shakes it up and down only once. Kurt nods too, throws the container into the cart, situates Blaine's arm through Kurt's own elbow, and pushes toward the milk and cream.

"Almost done. Do you want to just go? We can be rebels and not even put the cheese back in the refrigerator."

"We're almost done." Blaine takes the cart from him and pushes it along with one hand, the other holding Kurt's tightly.

Finding the cream is an easy task, so they do at once and hurry to the line at the front of the store.

They unload onto the conveyer belt and wait for the elderly woman in front of them to organize her coupons and hand them to the clerk.

Blaine sighs and launches himself into Kurt's arms so he can hold him. Kurt rocks him steadily, touching his lips to Blaine's, staying in that particular position a few seconds too long and too inappropriately for Ohio. There are stares at the taboo couple, but Kurt stares back until they look away shyly and intimidated.

The check-out procedure takes entirely too long for either of them to process but soon they find themselves aboard Kurt's Navigator and driving out of the parking lot. They only let go of each other's hands for enough time to load the bags into the back seat and get situated in the car.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later." His voice cracks again.

"Okay."

The silence is deafening. Kurt switches on the radio and the low Christmas music that's already playing is annoying. He hums along to "Baby, It's Cold Outside" for a verse and a half then turns his eyes to Blaine again.

"Your eyes are like starlight now…" Kurt sings and looks over at Blaine teasingly. When there's no reaction, he continues. "We can go home. We don't have to go to my dad's."

"Kurt, I want to. Please."

"Okay." He raises Blaine's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "Okay."

* * *

"Christian."

His permanent scowl is more defined today. "What?" His temper is shorter than normal, his teeth grinding a bit deeper at the sight of his son and _that monster out in public. _

"It's about time to show that _homosexual_ a piece of your mind. You get my baby back, you hear?"

"You know, Sondra. Blaine is just as much a faggot as his little fairy boyfriend. I think I should show them both a piece of my mind." He merges into traffic.

"You will do no such thing. Get rid of the boyfriend and we'll send Blaine away to camp and be done with this mess."

"I don't understand why you would spend any more money on him than we already have."

"Finish the boyfriend, Christian."

* * *

Blaine perks up at the delicious smell of supper in the kitchen as Carole slaves away with an apron tied around her waist. When introduced, she is as pleasant as ever and kisses both of his cheeks.

Burt shakes his hand firmly and pats his shoulder. "It's good to have you, Blaine."

"Thank you. I'm glad to have been invited." He throws a shining, sparkling eye to Kurt who smiles at him and looks down sheepishly.

"Blaine makes this amazing pumpkin tiramisu every year, you guys. He's brought the tradition here." Kurt beams.

"Do you mind sharing the kitchen for a little while, Mrs…."

"Carole." Carole finishes for him. "Of course I don't mind. You make yourself comfortable wherever you'd like."

Blaine smiles again. Best Thanksgiving ever, despite this morning.

"Help me?" He looks to Kurt for an answer. Kurt unhooks two Lima Bean aprons from the pantry, because there is not a prouder father for his son's business.

Blaine laughs lightly. "Should I clock in?"

"Shut it, Anderson." Kurt smiles and slips it over his head as Blaine watches him like he moves the sun and the earth. Kurt turns to his parents and smiles largely at them. He's happy they're happy that he's happy.

They walk farther into the kitchen, leaving the parentals behind.

"So, if you could please find a bowl and fill it with about 2 inches of liqueur, you can start soaking the lady fingers."

Kurt scrunches his nose as he opens the bottle. "I prefer your fingers."

"Ahem." Burt's face is blushed fire truck red and he's avoiding all sets of eyes. Apparently, Burt and Carole followed the couple for further observation.

Blaine's face is soon burning and Kurt laughs at them both.

"Sorry Father, lady fingers are not preferable." He holds up the package and waves it at his dad.

Blaine hangs his head and blushes harder. After that, he can't look at Kurt for the next ten minutes, in his rage of stirring and softening cheese, of blending in pumpkin puree and melting chocolate chips, swirled together with heavy cream.

Kurt only giggles in response to Blaine's embarrassment.

* * *

A Christmas Story is on the television, but Kurt and Blaine are both captivated in their food comas and in each other. They're cuddled in the family room, patiently waiting for their stomachs to digest so they can sneak another spoonful of the Pumpkin-Chocolate Tiramisu.

"You really outdid yourself with your required pumpkin-flavored dessert, baby."

"You really think so?" Blaine is drawing an undetermined pattern on Kurt's arm with his finger.

"No. I thought I'd lie about something like that." Kurt catches Blaine's hand halfway up his forearm and intertwines their fingers.

"Shut the fuck up."

Kurt winks and pretends to zip his lips, throwing away the imaginary key.

Blaine nods, smirking at Kurt possessively. "Has your dad said anything about me?"

"No, but he doesn't have to. I think he's a little weirded out but nothing we can't work to break him into, right?"

"What? He's weirded out? What did I do?" Blaine straightens his back and tries to appear taller, but it only hurts his ribs more.

"What? No! Blaine. I mean because you're younger than me. It's not a big deal at all, relax."

Blaine exhales. "Oh. _Jesus_, Kurt." Blaine's somewhat relieved the only thing weirding out his in-laws is something he can't help, anyway. _Wait, in-laws?_

"It's adorable how much you care about it, though."

Blaine gives him a pointed look with a hint of embarrassment. Chuckling an airy laugh through his nose, Kurt pats his boyfriend's knee twice, pushing off of it to stand.

"Need anything from the kitchen?"

"No." Blaine reaches for Kurt's tie and pulls down to leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Pretty boy."

Kurt smiles against Blaine's lips and gives him one more peck before straightening up again and drifting into the kitchen.

"Dad?"

Burt is leaning on the counter in front of the kitchen sink, scrubbing the same spot on a stuffing pot since Kurt's caught him. He's staring out the window into the yard, still complete with the swing set of Kurt's youth. There's frost on the edges of the glass; anyone would be able to tell it's below freezing outside right now.

"Hey, Kurt. Wanna dry?"

Kurt finds a microfiber towel near the sink and waits for his father to clean the pot, although it looks pretty spotless to him. The silence is a bit awkward, and it's then that Kurt confirms Burt is trying to wrap his head around his son's relationship with a teenager.

"Dad…"

"Look, kid. I told you it wasn't a good idea, and I still do believe that because it's not. You are on such a different level than him in your life, and it's just something that I can't support fully. But you see the way he looks at you? That's exactly how you look at him and I can tell that you both feel deeply for each other. Right?"

"Right, but—"

"Nothing more, Kurt. I'm not in the relationship. My acceptance will come, so long as he's as good and polite as he's been tonight with you. That's all that matters."

"Dad, I put the Lima Bean on the market. I want to move back to New York… with Blaine."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The remainder of Thanksgiving night goes off without a hitch. The conversation between Kurt and Burt causes some tension between father and son, but nothing they can't fix tomorrow or over the weekend.

Blaine keeps his distance from Burt for the rest of the night, in an effort to not piss him off. He faintly heard him arguing with Kurt in the kitchen and feels bad now that he can't be more of what Burt expected in a boyfriend for his son. He wants to be on his boyfriend's father's good side, and isn't sure how to fix something he can't control. He decides that he'll lay low for now.

The boys reel in the night by watching Christmas classics (_Home Alone_ and _Home Alone 2,_ and Blaine knows every word), drinking too much after-dinner drinks, nibbling on too many leftovers, and flirtingly arguing about shopping the next day. Blaine makes the mistake of questioning the need to wake for the Black Friday sales over their second helping of tiramisu and finds himself passionately being screamed at, of course in a playful manner. Kurt _tries_ to explain, in layman's terms, that fashion makes him feel absolutely alive, and without it he wouldn't be able to express himself the way he truly is destined to do through his clothing. The designers inspire him because it's an art, but Blaine can't seem to understand because he's lacked passion about everything in his life with the way he was raised. The only passions he has now are Kurt and staying the hell out of Christian Anderson's path.

Before they know it, it's late and they are drifting so hard into a slumber that they are knee deep in spending the night. Instead of going home to the apartment after more than a few cups of hot cocoa with homemade marshmallows and Bailey's and _more_ tiramisu, they find themselves snuggling on Kurt's father's couch he's had since Kurt was in high school and it just feels right. Together, at the house Kurt grew up in, they're happy as Kurt reminds Blaine frequently that this holiday is only the first of many, whispering into his ear with hot breath that jolts a shiver down Blaine's spine.

Sweet whispers are exchanged. Kurt, reminiscing on past holidays when his mother or Finn were still alive. Blaine, openly expressing that he's never felt any type of family dynamic in his past holidays. They're drifting, slapping each other out of sleep to talk and cuddle a little longer.

When it's time, they sleep separately. This is not because Kurt or even Burt lays down the law; it's one hundred percent Blaine's idea. For the first time in a long time, he is actually aware of someone else's comfort, and the fact that he wants to impress Burt Hummel for reasons he doesn't fully understand himself. Of course, he hopes his boyfriend's family approves of him, and as much as he'd love to be fucked straight into the mattress in the morning, he pushes Kurt off of him and insists they sleep with walls separating. He tries to explain that the last conversation he had with Burt wouldn't necessarily be filed under "respectful," and that combined with the fact that Burt is still not comfortable with the idea of his son dating a teenager on probation (could he blame him?) it's proven fact that Blaine needs to work hard to gain Burt's trust. He wants to do anything he can to redeem himself from the embarrassing talk in the Lima Bean, and he wants to become friendly with Burt, if only to make the whole thing easier for Kurt in the future. After another mockery of an argument, and even a pout that Blaine was killing himself to resist, Kurt sadly shuffles to another bed made up just for him. Blaine teases him and texts him a quick goodnight from no more than a hundred feet away, and Kurt texts back immediately that he hates him, instantaneously followed by a "love you" and a "miss you. This was a very stupid idea."

* * *

Blaine feels like he's only slept for three and a half minutes when the squeak of the door into Kurt's old room wakes him suddenly. He peers into the darkness with an unstoppable fear, still unacquainted with his surroundings and a bit frightened given his past living with his father. He's not sure if that initial startle will ever go away. When he determines where he is, or more importantly where he's _not_, he calms and works in pain to shuffle his head higher on the pillow. He'll never be comfortable enough with any surrounding to trust the darkness completely. He takes a deep breath at the sink of the mattress, but then there are lips on his and all of his uneasiness disappears. _Pretty boy._

"Morning." Kurt smiles into the kiss he places, now harder than the last one.

"Time is it?"

"Oh, you know… like, seven-thirty. It's Black Friday, baby! Get excited!" Kurt's already impeccably dressed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on the brink of the year's best shopping day. He's completely awake when he doesn't have to be. This part of Kurt will always be a mystery to Blaine; the fact that he's more of a morning person sometimes makes him weary of Kurt, like he's up to no good… like everyone else in the world awake before the sun rises. It's ridiculous, he knows it's absolutely ridiculous, but Blaine just can't help having a little smudge of doubt in the back of his mind. Snapping Blaine out of his distraction, like it was nothing, Kurt mentions that his plans include the Easton Shopping Center in Columbus because that's the only mall in Ohio one might be able to find French-made accessories. Blaine thinks it's stupid to go there on Black Friday; Louis Vuitton does not have a sale day, ever.

"Kurt, please let me sleep. Let me just take you to Paris and we won't have to pay the import tax or whatever." He sits up and rubs his boyfriend's cashmere-covered arms. "Mmmm, you're soft."

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

Blaine's eyes widen and he laughs, pulling Kurt down on top of him. "Love you. Is this the same bed you slept on in high school?"

"Last chance to come shopping with me." Kurt knows exactly what lines to ignore from Blaine in the morning.

"I was warned, though. Officially, fervidly cautioned against accompanying you to any clothing establishment between now and Christmas Day, Kurt. And by your own father!"

Much to Blaine's dismay, Burt cornered him last night while he was trying to avoid him at all costs after Kurt was drifting a bit on the couch for some "guy talk." Really, the only thing they spoke about was the fact that Blaine should not go with Kurt shopping on Black Friday. Something about if he wanted to survive the day, resist it regardless what Kurt promises… or whatever.

"Don't listen to him. He has no idea what it means to have passion about color palettes and one-of-a-kind designs and dressing a gorgeous boyfriend with eyes that I literally still don't know how to describe." Kurt whips out the puppy dog pout and nuzzles their noses together. "Please? Every color looks incredible on you and you are depriving me of my most-loved pastime. Please!" Kurt bucks his hips to grind with Blaine's for more incentive, just in case he needs it.

"Your most-loved pastime. I beg to differ, old man. You said just last week that me under you with a fistful of mattress is your-" He cuts himself off and looks to the door. He's so paranoid with parents around. "Oh my God, fine. But I'm going to be napping by three at the latest, swear to me."

"Uh huh…" Kurt kisses him again and gets off of him. "Come on! Get up! We need to be on the road by eight though, it's a two hour drive. Let's go!" Kurt grabs both of Blaine's hands and pulls him up, folding him at the waist. When he doesn't budge, he takes his ankles and gently drags him off the bed. "Blaineeeeee!"

Kurt's hand brushes up against the anklet ever so eloquently attached to Blaine's leg. _Fuck_.

Kurt's eyes bulge out of his head, but he's trying to hide his shock of remembering that Blaine can only go so far. "Meh. On second thought… Columbus is overrated. Lima Mall, and I'll even succumb to Starbucks! But first, let's just lie here." He falls back on Blaine and snuggles into his shoulder.

"Kurt." It seems as though Blaine got lost in the young love enough to forget about his four-mile problems just the same way as Kurt did.

"Why would I go to a place that is never going to offer sales? Besides, Carole doesn't need that Burberry handbag, and honestly the pattern doesn't even match with anything, Victoria Beckham! Add that to the list of seriously deranged and overrated before the Harry Potter series was even over, God." He's rambling; he doesn't want to make Blaine feel bad for changing their plans because of his own restrictions. He kisses his boyfriend hard.

"_Kurt_. You can go. You were just going on and on about I don't know what, but you obviously want to go. Just go? Aren't your friends home from wherever for the holiday? I'll probably still be sleeping by the time you come back. And don't buy me anything!"

Kurt pauses to stare at him and exhales hysterically. He smiles a curve that doesn't quite reach his sad eyes.

"Let's just go home and figure out what we can do on your day off."

Blaine sighs and nods sheepishly, too tired to argue more about _shopping_ of all things. He takes his hand, and leads Kurt down the stairs.

Kurt leaves a note on the kitchen table explaining that they've gone shopping locally. Kurt makes Blaine sign his own name for the sake of personal touches, thank you very much, love Kurt and Blaine. It seems like Kurt already has Lima-based backup plans for him and his delinquent boyfriend.

Blaine kisses the backside of his shoulder and stares at their names together, something in his heart twanging and jumping as a reaction.

"I love you so much, Kurt."

"How much?" Kurt leans back into Blaine's body.

"Sooooo much."

"Mmmm, you already know how much I love you." Kurt replies naturally. He offers his hand and they disappear into the painted sunrise that's not quite showing its full features yet, smiling shyly and sleepily at each other, like this all is still new.

Kurt starts up the car and lets it warm up a bit. He looks over to Blaine, already with his eyes shut leaning back on the headrest.

"Are you okay?"

Blaine snaps his head over to Kurt. "Yeah, just sleepy." He smiles. "Are you okay?"

"Do you think we got too serious too quickly?"

"Hm? Do you?"

"I just mean that it's only November, and we already had this talk about slowing it down and I feel like we did for a while after that but I feel like it didn't really help too much, and it's… it's only November, B… and I'm already asking you to move in, but like… you need to, Blaine… shit…" Kurt trails off and sighs. "Forget it, I'm being stupid."

"No you're not. Maybe we are moving too fast, but it feels like, natural, too, right? I really tried to stay away from you like you wanted." Blaine opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Kurt. He smirks and flutters his eyelashes.

Kurt looks at Blaine. He sees so much in him, like everything is okay when he's near. "You're right." He sighs. "Of course you're right, baby. Forget I mentioned it. I'm just… scared to go all the way in and then fuck it up and then I'll just be alone again."

"Babe, hey. We're already… I'm not going anywhere." Blaine tilts his head, truly concerned that this conversation just took a turn for the worst.

"I don't know what I'm feeling." And Kurt doesn't. He's not sure why he feels the need to back off again, after the official move-in and after the mutual "I love you." He chalks it up to Blaine's age for now, and aims to think about it when he's gotten more than four hours of sleep.

"Quarter-life crisis plus three years?" Blaine asks. He's actively trying to lighten the mood.

"_Blaine_."

"Seriously, though. Should I back off? We never really talked about any of the issues you had with us getting together in the first place. We're really fucking complicated, pretty boy."

"I know."

"Maybe talking about that would make you feel better? You didn't want to get with me because I'm way younger, but how do you feel now that you know the first time we had sex wasn't illegal?"

"That all… escalated quickly, too… regardless of how old you are. At that point, I'd been alone for so long that I was just used to being alone."

"What about now? Do you feel weird now that you have me?"

"Not weird. Overwhelmed, maybe?"

"Overwhelmed." Blaine repeats, nodding to himself. He's not mad, only a bit disappointed that they're having relationship problems so early. They've only been dating a few months. "Have you, um… thought of how we can fix this? Do you want to fix it?"

"Nothing's broken. I think it's just going to be the continuation of natural progression. We'll just keep growing and evolving until we're both… that's how we'll work."

"And I'm not doing anything wrong?"

"Of course not. I'm not necessarily putting the brakes on anything here." He grabs Blaine's hand over the console. "I just think we need to just… date, and not be completely obsessed with each other. I'm guilty of that lately."

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"If I was like twenty-five, would we be having the same conversation right now?"

Kurt pulls into the parking lot behind the Lima Bean, shuts the car off and turns to face his boyfriend. His heart jumps erratically, and he takes a deep breath.

"This has nothing to do with our age. This is me being completely crazy cautious to make sure we're not getting in too deep before you change your mind."

"I'm not… Kurt, I'm not changing my mind!"

"You're so young–"

"I knew this had to do with my age! Kurt, I'm not going anywhere, I want _you_. I can't explain it any other way. If you don't believe me then maybe we should just… whatever. I can't keep trying to convince you if you're not going to fucking listen." In this moment, Blaine wishes that he were able to move even remotely faster than a snail so he could appropriately storm off to demonstrate his anger. His ribs are throbbing with every step toward the front door and he has to stop for a fraction of a second to catch his breath.

Kurt catches up with him after locking his car door with the click of the keychain remote. "Blaine…"

Between the words Blaine heard out of Burt's mouth last night and now everything that's being said to him from his own boyfriend, he's spent. "I'm sorry, okay?" He stops and turns to his boyfriend. "I'm sorry this isn't the ideal relationship for you and you do deserve someone your own age who won't be immature and fucking childish and is so much of a fuck-up that he's headed off to jail or whatever. I'm sorry, Kurt, okay? I'm sorry I am who I am and you can't see past the year I was born."

"Okay, relax. You're not going to jail and I do want to be with you, I'm only suggesting that we're still moving too fast. I don't know."

"_You_ asked me to move in, _you_ hired me at the coffee shop, _you_ helped me all those times with my dad. I didn't initiate any of this Kurt, as much as I wanted to, because I didn't want to disrespect you if you didn't want me in the same way. _You_ kissed me first, _you_ didn't stop me from fucking you the first time, not really! Why are we still dealing with these mixed messages? What did I do to make you still unsure?"

"Nothing, honey." Kurt steps into Blaine's space and wraps his arms around his waist. He rests his chin on the top of Blaine's head. He pulls away and looks Blaine in the eye. "Please, let's go inside and put everything you're feeling out on the table and I'll do the same. Okay?"

Blaine nods. It's not a bad idea and maybe they could finally move past this. "Yeah. I'm freezing." He nudges Kurt so he's walking backward, still attached to Blaine. He pulls on Kurt's jacket to halt at the sight of the open door.

The door on street level isn't pulled all the way closed when they arrive, although Kurt's habit of locking and pulling twice to make sure is one he adopted from his time in New York.

Kurt turns around and follows Blaine's line of vision. "Um, Blaine?" Kurt's brows are creased deep with worry; he reaches out for a hand.

Blaine positions himself in front of Kurt and leans back to take his hand as they sneak up the stairs slowly in case an assumed intruder is still in the apartment. It turns out that he's not, but he's left it wrecked with pillows ripped apart and goose-feathered contents splayed wherever they've landed. The custom furniture and drapes are slit, like Kurt's wrists only a few years ago with perpendicular lines, bitterly crisscrossed and unattractive. The plush cotton of the cushions is seeping out of the gashes like blood would. There's no use trying to repair this.

"Stay here." A wash of protective boyfriend falls over him, regardless of the argument they have yet to finish. Blaine breaks away from Kurt, jaw-dropped and in shock, to examine their shared bedroom. He's still cautious, in the event that they're not alone. He peaks into the room, wishing he had a baseball bat or 2x4 in his hands. At the repugnant sight, a revolt zaps through his veins and he knows exactly who must be responsible for this. The spray paint displayed so disgustingly across the rug in neon pink seals the deal and Blaine crashes to the floor unable to move for three full minutes.

_Die, Faggots._

He doesn't realize he's sobbing until his hands rub at his eyes and they come away wet. He's always thought he hated his father, but the brand new dagger in his heart confirms that nothing before was pure, fawning malice because that is precisely what he's feeling at this moment and nothing before it could have ever been compared.

"Kurt?" He comes out of hiding and finds his way back to his boyfriend, who's furiously trying to stuff feathers into a pillow lining, turning purple in the process because they just. won't. stay.

"I just… we can fix this. All of this. Us, and the apartment, we're fine Blaine. Okay?" Kurt's eyes flash to Blaine's and then back to concentrate on the pillow.

Oddly enough, nothing was stolen. Just scattered. Blaine shifts his eyes to take the living room's state into consideration. What he decides next is completely terrifying for him.

"Baby, we need to… call the cops." His own breath hitches with anxiety and he approaches Kurt slowly. Blaine takes the pillow out of Kurt's hands and drops it to the floor. "Come on, pretty boy, let's go sit and call someone." He leads the way into the kitchen and turns when he sees Kurt nervous, looking in the bathroom off the hallway.

Kurt runs into the room and slams the door behind him.

He's so fragile and Blaine knows nothing of how to fix him in this moment. He knows that all of this is bringing back slammed backs to locker grating and showing the signs on his body. They'd talked in the past about _their_ pasts, enough to know that they were similar but not enough to fully understand the scars it left on Kurt's heart.

Kurt resurfaces suddenly, slamming the door to the bathroom shut behind him with a distant look spread across his face, like he was trying to hide something. He _is_ trying to hide something; a very important something that Blaine absolutely cannot know about. "Umm, I need to go. I need to go check on downstairs." He hates lying; especially to the people he loves, and definitely under pressure. He doubts that Blaine will buy it, specifically his shifty eyes and the inability to look anywhere near his boyfriend at all, but he's betting on the fact that it's early enough to be true and neither of them have had enough sleep to be coherent.

"Julie is there. You're not going anywhere like this. Come on." He could fucking kill his father for hurting Kurt the way he has; his beautiful lover is on the verge of a breakdown and it's all Christian Anderson's fault. He has no right. He approaches his boyfriend again and rubs at his forearm with his knuckles. "Baby."

"No, Blaine!" He rips his arm away like it's been burned. "I need to go make sure the shop is okay and Julie is not there alone with some couch-slitting creep right here somewhere! I pride myself on being a good boss, B. You _know_ that." He looks at him finally with broken eyes and a quivering lip. "I'll be right back." He whispers the last sentence and Blaine swears he's talking to a fourteen-year-old, post-ass-kicking for bringing a boy to the dance. It's like someone punched Kurt in the gut repeatedly. It's like Blaine is looking at himself in a mirror.

Blaine is livid that his father could affect the one person he loves the most. He would do anything for Kurt; even if it is moving too fast and he is becoming too obsessed with him, he still would because he _loves_ him. There's nothing that he wouldn't do to see Kurt happy.

Blaine nods; Kurt's won this time. He's speeding to the foyer and turns back to take Blaine in. His eyes rake from his ankles to the tip of his head; Kurt is getting a final look.

This wreck of his living space, though, is bringing all of Kurt's feelings from years ago, from high school, back to the surface and although he vowed to _never look back_, he can't help feeling as miniscule as he did back then. The only difference is that this time, he knows he's not alone. Sure, it's not like he can choose who he is attracted to; and if it just so happens to be a seventeen – _eighteen _– year-old gay boy, then so be it. So what if they're moving a bit fast? They're both eager to have each other in every sense of the word, and maybe after Kurt goes downstairs, they can reenter the conversation they were just having. _Nevermind about the slight obsession, let's do this full speed ahead. _

Kurt is so confused. He wants to spend the rest of his life loving Blaine, but he doesn't want to jump into the deep end without making sure that his heart would not be broken. He's nervous that Blaine will find a hot boy his own age to love, and he'll be left to rot, alone for eternity.

He just doesn't know.

He puts those thoughts on hold, because he is now going downstairs to meet with Blaine's monster because of his virtually unconditional love for Blaine, for his need to protect the people he cares for. It never even crosses his mind that he might be stepping away from the comfort of _his_ Blaine's arms and straight into nothing but negativity and danger.

Kurt hands off his phone to Blaine and goes to the door. "Call my dad and ask him over here, then call the cops. I'm just going to check on Jules."

"You are seriously stubborn, Hummel. Why can't I come with you?"

"Love you." Kurt's smile is half-hearted. "Love you so much, Blaine." He opens the door and turns back to look at him. Stalking back to Blaine, Kurt presses a soft kiss to the direct center of his lips and smiles brighter this time.

"Me too, pretty boy." Blaine's already scrolling through Kurt's contacts to find Burt Hummel's number so that he can try to explain the findings to the best of his ability, without letting Burt hear what he really feels about his own father and the situation they found themselves in this morning.

Blaine's certainly been dealt a terrible deck of cards in his life when it comes to his family, but it's nothing that he can help, just like he can't control what decade he was born into. He decides to leave out the fact that he believes the break-in was at the discretion of his father when he calls Kurt's dad to ask him over. He knows that Burt is already unpleased with the boys' budding relationship, and this is not the right way to win over his approval, no matter how incredible his Pumpkin Tiramisu was last night.

* * *

Kurt sighs and tries not to rush out of the apartment. The note written in eyeliner on the bathroom sink was short and scribbled, and absolutely something that Blaine cannot be aware of. Did Kurt think that already? It feels like déjà vu. Kurt needs to keep himself and his boyfriend safe in the wrath of Christian fucking Anderson.

If he's trying to keep himself and his boyfriend relatively unharmed, he probably should not be doing what the note suggested.

_Pretty Boy – Meet me between the buildings next to your business on the right side. Don't bring the boyfriend. - CA_

Kurt turns on his protective front he's had stashed away since high school and flies down the stairs and into the alleyway, ready to give Christian fucking Anderson a piece of his mind. He doesn't care if this man could possibly, maybe, hopefully be his father-in-law one day (this is the exact thought he should not be having three months in), the level of hatred he has for Blaine's father is off the charts and he'll be sure to tell him just that and more.

Kurt knows better than anyone in the entire world that words can hurt more than fists, and he hopes to get in enough of his beautifully crafted speech he's been saving for exactly this moment before the inevitable brawl he knows he's walking into. He doesn't know, however, that Christian Anderson has very large and muscled friends that were probably actual hit men in another life.

Kurt is an adult; sometimes he is as ignorant as a child.

He thinks of only Blaine – it's better him than Blaine, this time. And maybe he'll get through to Christian. Maybe it'll take a thought-out speech for him to rethink just how much he's been _breaking_ Blaine.

* * *

He waits, pinned and attempting to fight off a crew of large men with ski hats plastered to their faces. He freezes under them in the alleyway for fifteen minutes until he sees the Cadillac SUV pull up and block the driveway.

"Fancy meeting you here, faggot."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_Author's Note: I'm really sorry, you guys. Just keep reading, I promise everything gets better. Friendly reminder that there is no character death in this fanfiction! Hang in there! : - )_

The blood nearly chokes him as it slides down his throat with every swallow, pooling at the base of his stomach. He hears the crack and the snap and now he can't determine if he's sideways or standing. He opens his mouth to demand help; his moan goes unheard. The pain is unbearable across the insides of his cheeks; he feels a gaping, warm hole on the side of his jaw. His head is pounding, his leg bent at an inhuman angle; he can see the slash of bone at his shin. He focuses on his breathing, on his ability to _stay alive_. He lies still; he tries to keep himself together. _For Blaine._

He's so tired; he closes his eyes.

* * *

It's been almost a full hour. The cops haven't shown up and both Burt and Kurt are missing in action. Blaine paces the apartment in full, tapping Kurt's iPhone against his chin with an invisible melody. _What the actual fuck, where is everyone?_

Blaine has to pee.

He sets the phone down on the coffee table and makes his way slowly but surely to the bathroom. His eyes go straight to the bold text scribbled across the mirror, and suddenly his bladder isn't showing any warning signs. Abort ship. Mission: Rescue Kurt from Christian Anderson – system is a go. Oh fuck, it must be too late. This day could not be going any worse.

He yanks the vibrating iPhone back off of the table, not even answering it because he knows what Kurt's dad needs him for.

He pockets Kurt's phone so it's next to his own and descends, zipping and soaring, making actual contact with every third stair or so. His actions become a blur of wood, crisp air, and a sunrise that still hasn't pulled through altogether, even though the purples and pinks blend together rather nicely against the blue and white of the sky, creating a Lisa Frank painting right there for anyone's oohs and ahhs.

Blaine's always running. To or from, it doesn't matter. He's just never in the right place at the right time.

The sight on street level is debilitating; Blaine's legs unlock and he collapses on the pavement. There is yellow "Crime Scene" tape everywhere, skewed and blocking off random areas of the sidewalk.

He knows that it's Kurt. There is something wrong with his Kurt. Kurt's dead. Could Kurt be dead? They hardly got any time together, that would be positively unfair of life to take him without warning and in the middle of an argument at that.

At a closer look, Blaine swallows nervously at the sight of the streaks of dark crimson painted into the concrete, leading around the corner and into the darkness of the alleyway. He finds Burt's eyes and levitates to where he is standing next to an ambulance, peering inside the opened back door, his hand covering his mouth and water in his eyes.

"Mister Hummel… Where is-" Blaine follows Burt's eyes into the vehicle and thinks he might drop dead right then and there. "Kurt!" His body panics, and he's fighting against Kurt's father's chest. He is somehow turned by Burt one-hundred and eighty degrees; his back faces his unconscious, frail, helpless boyfriend.

"Blaine! Stop!" Burt has a hard grasp on the boy's biceps, "You'll hurt him more if you touch him now. Stop fucking fighting me, kid!" Blaine punches at his chest one last time for good measure, as if that's the one that will allow him to get closer to Kurt. "Blaine! Fuck, relax, calm down!" Burt wraps his arms around Blaine's body and pulls him into his chest for nothing but the restraint.

"Calm down? My father just put a fucking hit on my boyfriend. Is he breathing? Is he okay?" Blaine allows his throat to make a non-human sound as he turns out of Burt's hold and punches at the side door of the ambulance and effectively starts bleeding from swollen knuckles. _Please let Kurt be okay._

* * *

The next thing Blaine knows, he's shifting on a row of especially uncomfortable and discounted plastic chairs in a milk-colored waiting room that smells nothing short of antiseptic and death, ignoring another phone call from his brother. His hand is wrapped and throbbing, laid across his chest. He must have fallen asleep hours ago, as Kurt was going into surgery to have the bones in his leg reset; evidently, a pipe of some sort shattered his left tibia. Blaine blankly wonders if he's lucky enough for Kurt to still be alive, as he himself lies on his back, monumentally unscathed except for the curve of the chair hitting each of his discs and minor self-inflicted pain only brought upon himself out of rage. It's irritating, not painful. He's at least satisfied with one minor detail today, and that's simply the location of Lima Memorial Hospital being within four miles of his extremist, bitter, homophobic father's house.

Burt and Carole return and Blaine explodes upward to occupy only one seat. He scratches at his ankle furiously, in an effort to remind himself to not get too crazy at whatever news they must have. He leans his head against the wall behind the flimsy chair and side eyes Kurt's dad.

"He's okay, Blaine."

"How do you know that, though?" He lifts his head off the wall and runs his fingertips through his curls, then ruffles them. He couldn't care less about the messy mop on the top of his head.

"Well, he just got out of surgery and he's in his room. When he wakes up, we'll be able to see him."

"Yeah. Tell him I said hi." With sarcasm dripping, Blaine can't hide his apathy in hospital rules; it's fucking stupid that people you love must be related to you in order to see your bruises in your hospital room. It's why Blaine's laid and stared at the ceiling alone a few times; no one related to him ever came to visit. He finds comfort in knowing that maybe other people did but they weren't allowed to see him. He's been there too many times, although they were quick and quiet visits that had him walking himself home after discharge.

Somehow, thanks to his father's influence around town, the Department of Child Protective Services never caught wind of exactly how many times Blaine had been in the hospital for bruised ribs and deep slices across his skin.

"Tell him yourself." Kurt's dad grinds his teeth and pinches at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer for a few seconds too long before looking back at his son's boyfriend.

Blaine knows Burt is only trying to withdraw a nasty comment thrown in Blaine's direction about his teenage attitude because Kurt probably asked him to try for him, and Burt would do anything for his son. But then again, so would Blaine for his boyfriend.

"It's all my fault." _Word vomit._

Burt sighs, softens his look, and sits next to him. He holds a hand to the boy's shoulder, the way a father might.

"It is not your fault that you have a ruthless father, sweetheart." Carole chimes in because she knows guilt and she will not allow her last remaining son's somebody special to feel even a glitch of what she's been living with for years.

She quickly occupies the seat on the other side of Blaine and takes his good hand and pulls her other hand up to his chin so he looks at her. "No matter what happens between you and Kurt, you always have a home with us. I don't care if you're forty-five and you haven't seen Kurt in twenty years. You are always invited, no questions asked."

Burt nods, "I think." Burt looks at Carole, then directly to Blaine. "I think you'll be coming to my house for holidays with Kurt for a while." He laughs awkwardly. "I'm pretty sure you're stuck with my kid for a long time, Anderson."

Blaine nods and scoffs through his tears. "Fine by me." He mumbles and positions his chin to his chest to hide his smile, because among all this bad, he has managed to find Kurt and even Burt and Carole.

Blaine's not sure if Burt's eyes are shining out of joy that his son found someone to spend the rest of his life with, or tears of fear and anger toward his son's beat down for being gay in the first place. Nevertheless, Blaine allows Carole to stroke the top of his hand with her thumb and nods shyly at Burt, who is staring daggers into his heart. Or maybe that's the look of fatherly love. He could never tell the difference.

So they sit in silence for hours that feel like a week. None of them know exactly how serious Kurt's injuries are, so they wait. And then they wait some more.

* * *

Getting the living shit beat out of him doesn't hurt any less since the days of being thrown into dumpsters and locker indentations across his back. The taste of iron seems to have conclusively disappeared from his mouth, although he cannot carry out any movement in his jaw without a stabbing, tear-worthy suffering. He jolts his tongue where a molar toward the back used to be and analyzes the gaping hole until he only presumes that was his blood-breakfast's source.

He's acquainted again with the known world, but still lethargic. The anesthesia is wearing off at its own pace that Kurt can't help but try to move along by shifting his eyes briskly in hopes of appearing lively.

He bends slightly, moaning greatly at the modest shift. _What knife is twisting, in the shape of my ribs? Jesus!_ He glances at his leg, casted in white (straight with a slight angle at the knee) and elevated in traction. _Awesome_. He tries to turn his head to observe his view but the plastic neck brace prevents the movement.

His attention moves aimlessly to his last memory. It's the glimpse of gorgeous, worried as all hell, frowning Blaine from the foyer at home before he rushed out to meet with… someone. _To meet with Christian Anderson! After he wrecked my – our – apartment. Where the fuck is Blaine?_

The monotonous beep is refreshing, a constant reminder that he is still alive. Kurt's blue eyes are black, one nearly swollen shut, and he feels the throb at his eyelid. His body, for the most part, is numb or tingling and he lifts his good arm up slowly to watch how blurred and full of sparkly stars he can make it. He laughs a little, touching his pointer to his thumb, entranced in the movement. He blinks slowly; each blink means life.

Kurt begins hyperventilating. _Please let Blaine be alright. _He panics.

* * *

Blaine's mind drifts to the first day he saw Kurt. God, he was so gorgeous. Maybe a bit sad, lonely even, but seemingly content, despite all the shit previously thrown at him. Not much breaks Kurt Hummel, or so it seems.

Blaine remembers how dumb he was for not starting a conversation for weeks upon weeks, and he feels a short giggle release from the depths of his throat. He remembers the first time they had sex, although their relationship was developing a bit backwards at that point. It was the most intimate and real experience Blaine had ever had with anyone else. He remembers the night Kurt essentially gave up on the resistance and how it's only gotten better since, although the argument they were fighting before the attack lingers in Blaine's mind. He forces into happiness again; he remembers the day Kurt told him he loved him, and Blaine's initial thought was that it must have been a joke because no one could love him with almost an entire slice of pizza smashed into his mouth. He remembers the teasing and the flirting and the incredible sex he's had since they both agreed to be boyfriends the night before Blaine's eighteenth birthday. Blaine doesn't want to just remember Kurt, though. He wants him. Forever. He can't lose Kurt, miss Kurt. Not yet. They haven't experienced enough together yet. The stab at his heart is too sharp even now while he can't see him. Blaine sighs; he can't get enough and hopefully he won't ever have to.

Although Blaine is younger, he wants to be the one that dies first. It's selfish for him to put Kurt through such heartbreak, _assuming he loves me the way I love him,_ but it's something that Blaine would never survive if the tables were turned. Blaine vows to himself in that moment that he'll pull a Romeo and Juliet if need be, whether that time be today or fifty-five years from now. The easy way out isn't always the best, but there's no other option as far as Blaine is concerned. He vows to never walk the earth without Kurt's presence.

There's a ping in his heart; a sudden change that catches Blaine's breath in his throat, the feelings overwhelming and strong. He feels like he's going to throw up, or cry, or both. He needs to be the one to provide for Kurt. Kurt is his family; he's the only family he's got. Responsible adults supply their families with anything they need. To have enough money for Kurt to live the way he wants to requires college. College and an engagement ring, a wedding, a house without a mortgage. Health insurance. Happiness. Eternity. Fearlessly and forever. Blaine's life has to change to keep Kurt safe and well.

* * *

It's nearly dinnertime before the doctor returns to the waiting room to let them know it's safe to go back to Kurt's room.

Blaine glances at the police officers waiting idly in the corner until he's ready to talk. They have already tried to talk to Blaine twice, but the tears are uncontrollable every time. He promises that he'll be more comprehensible once he sees Kurt's open eyes for himself. The cops nod and leave him alone, assuring to do so until he's ready to explain the happenings of this morning to them in full detail. To make use of their time in the best way, they announce that they will now return to the apartment to take more pictures of the scene. The burlier of the two slips Blaine his business card and they disappear.

He stares at the space previously occupied by the detectives, and stalls in standing, until Burt gives him an unexpected nudge that does nothing to keep him from tumbling over. He catches his own feet just in time and he looks back at Burt and Carole who are still sitting. The nurse is waiting for a family member to follow her back to Kurt.

"Go." Burt insists.

"I'm sorry, honey. You're family?" The nurse looks like she regrets the exact question at least seven times a day.

"Uhhhh, cousin?"

Carole stands, comfortable with the nurse. Carole's entire career has been this hospital; the least they can do is allow _all_ of Kurt's loved ones to visit. "Adriana. This is Kurt's…" She looks down at Blaine, whose pupils are blown wide, screaming for help.

Nurse Adriana does not believe the cousin bit.

"This is Kurt Hummel's husband." Carole purses her lips and looks to her co-worker with hope twinkling fully in her eyes.

"Very well." The nurse doesn't believe it at all, but there's nothing she can officially do.

Blaine releases the air from his lungs and follows her back to the love of his life.

* * *

_He's awake._ "Oh, pretty boy." Blaine rushes down and plops into the chair before grabbing Kurt's hand between both of Blaine's and kissing his knuckles. "Hi." He brushes the piece of hair that he can only imagine Kurt's been annoyed with for _hours_. "Can you speak, baby?"

Kurt shakes his head slightly, but grinning at Blaine. _Oh fuck, he's okay._ He opens his mouth a little and leans toward Blaine to show him the inside of his mouth, never taking his eyes off of his beautiful, endearing, adorable boyfriend.

"Got some teeth knocked outta ya, huh?" Blaine sighs. "Me too. I have two fake ones in the back. We can have the same battle wounds, kay?" There's a beat. "It's kind of a Christian Anderson signature move."

Kurt smiles even bigger, clearly drugged on a massive amount of painkillers.

"Jesus, Kurt. I am so happy you're alive. I love you so much. You scared me so bad. You're so fucking stubborn."

Kurt groans, mumbling inaudible words and gazing into Blaine's eyes like it's just another day.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I did this to you, oh God, I'm so sorry." Blaine kisses his forehead lightly and holds his lips there, closing his eyes and inhaling. "I have to tell the cops everything. And when you're ready, you should too."

Blaine's eyes go blank, staring at the bleeping monitors above and to the right of Kurt's head. He knows he needs to talk to the cops, but he can't find the strength in him until Kurt can explain too. He's his only confidant and he really doesn't want to miss a major detail because his brain shorts out staring at cops, whom he's been intimidated by for his entire life.

Burt and Carole peak in for a visit with their son.

Blaine is glued to Kurt's side, rambling sweet nothings for anyone to hear. Burt suggests he say goodbye for the night upwards of twenty times until he finally does. The scene is straight out of a movie, complete with Blaine rushing back three times for another kiss and Kurt giggling loud and obnoxious every time, before being forced to sleep alone in an entirely different world five minutes up the road.

"I miss you already. I love you." He digs Kurt's phone out of his pocket and places it lightly on his chest. "Text me if you're up to it. I'll bring a charger tomorrow." Blaine nods, tears in his eyes. All the odds have to be in their favor, after all of this shit, right? "I love you, pretty boy."

Kurt draws a heart with his fingers and points to Blaine, winking and smiling erratically all the while.

Blaine follows his boyfriend's parents out of the building, clutching his phone until his knuckles are wrapped around it and white with no circulation to his fingertips.

It's not discussed at all, and he doesn't even say a word when Burt pulls into the driveway and unlocks the front door and leaves it wide open for Carole and Blaine to follow.

* * *

Blaine is staring at the iPhone screen in his hand, sitting on the edge of Kurt's high school bed. He throws it toward the pillows and falls backward, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes and willing himself not to cry.

"Blaine, sweetie?" He stands and shuffles to the door, opening it apprehensively. It's Carole, with a collection of toiletries and two towels in her hands, piled so high she could hardly see over them.

"Hi, honey. I brought some stuff you can use while you're here. Make yourself at home." She places the pile on the bed and tilts her head at him. "Are you okay?"

Blaine looks to her and nods once. "As long as he is."

"Oh, honey. He will be." Before Blaine can resist, she captures his upper body in a tight hug and holds the back of his head, swaying to make him feel better. "This isn't your fault, Blaine."

"He got to him through me! How is this not my fault?"

"You can't control his actions. You're beating yourself up over this for no reason, because Kurt will be fine and you will both come out of this so much stronger together."

Blaine doesn't say a word but he considers this for the hour after Carole leaves his new bedroom.

He rustles through Kurt's old desk and finds an empty notebook and a seriously obsessive collection of all types of writing utensils. He writes. It's the first step to provide for his family of two.

**What is something you've overcome?**

_My father. I've always had to overcome my father. Since the beginning of my life, before I even came out as a gay man, before I had a boyfriend, he has always thrived for me to be the best._

Blaine rips the page out of the notebook and tosses it away. He growls and starts again. _Victim, much?_

_I've had to overcome myself. I am in constant competition with the lesser me, the boy who doesn't deserve a thing._

This time, he throws the entire notebook against the wall and plunges into the pillow behind him, screaming every profanity he's ever known. _ Again, with the fucking victim mentality._

No, he won't let his father ruin his self-esteem anymore. He thinks of the way Kurt encourages him, even when he doesn't say a thing. He thinks about how he finally has a support system that's behind him every step of the way, regardless of what way he chooses. He retrieves Kurt's notebook again, scribbling words fast and furious, barely legible since he's so into the moment. He is writing quickly before the thoughts leave his head, never to be seen again.

_For some, "Blaine Anderson" is a preposterous good-for-nothing flop. He is a screw-up who will never find the right path. For others, I am a boy who has the potential to reformat the world to my own tune. To one, I am the entire world. To everyone else, I am disgusting, taboo, faggot, gay. _

_My particular household in rural Ohio is just about the last residence a kid like me should live and be raised. For the most part, I'll have you know that the kids at school are somewhat tame when it comes to teasing the gay kid who minds his own business. Most of the adults who are set in their ways torment me around town, and can't seem to realize that equality regardless of who you kiss is a simple reference to human rights. (That's another essay.) _

_It is my own blood and DNA that make my life a living underworld in the inmost layer of pure hell, seething and ripping me apart at every opportunity. It is my immediate crew of relatives that pushes me down (literally and figuratively) every single day of my very existence. Columbia or not, my countdown to escape and survival is anxiously stalked every morning with a Sharpie marker to the calendar. They say you can't pick your family, so my family couldn't have possibly picked me._

_I am not one to accept any form of compassion easily, especially when it comes to my sexuality and other situations I simply cannot control; I feel uneasy when someone looks at me with pity. I've always taught myself to deal with the hand of cards I'd been dealt. My parents tell me every day that I chose this. "I made my bed so I have to lie in it." They say this with words; Dad says this with fists. They reiterate their desires for my abortion, and had they known early on that I was to be a perverted monster, they wouldn't have even had sex that night nine months before my birth. Evidently, my parents are not huge fans of Blaine Anderson._

_Rock bottom came and went, then came again. The singular distinction between then and now, though, is the love of my life that I've been lucky enough to find at some point in the midst of my downward spiral. His presence is what keeps me driven, encouraged, and loved, in a world where I didn't even bother to love myself. It's he who tells me that things will get better, and it's his words that I believe for the first time. Things are finally looking up, Columbia University Admissions Officer, and I'm physically working toward my dreams of living in New York and obtaining an incomparable education, something I would have never considered only two years prior to my writing a detailed account of my past to explain my biggest accomplishment of overcoming the hate handed to me. _

_Rock bottom was a dark place, and the most embarrassing mistakes were made. Rock bottom was committing larceny more than once, solely for attention. (They confiscated the thesaurus I stole from Barnes & Noble. Just for the record, I don't need it. This is my natural-born vocabulary, I swear.) Rock bottom was a homophobic police officer slapping an ankle monitor on my leg to ensure I stay within a four-mile radius for at least a year of my life, and it was meeting with my parole officer and her stalking me all around town and everywhere I went to make sure I didn't steal again or leave school early. (I wouldn't; I love to learn and read. Books fascinate me.) Rock bottom was not having enough heart in me to like, let alone love, any one person. Rock bottom was trying to commit suicide, a quick slit or swallow of a pill and everything could have been over. Rock bottom was being so dangerously close to the edge, nearly jumping to chase the self-esteem in me that had already escaped, plummeting to its death seconds before my body. _

_Since I was a kid, even before I was officially and openly gay, no one believed in me, and I was reminded of this daily. I grew up secondary to my brother; I was never good enough in anything I did. I was never able to swing higher than him at the playground, or beat him in a race. I was never able to catch the football or color in-between the lines. I was taught at a young age that anything less than "extraordinary superhero" was never enough._

_Because of the constant pressure when I was young, I am now especially motivated to follow my dreams and go beyond them, almost to the point of obsession. The terrible part of all of this, though, is that I am in constant competition with myself. A self-proclaimed perfectionist, I don't quit until it's superior to whatever you thought it could be by a long shot – whatever "it" may be. _

_My current motivation to obtain "it" is the fact that I have to provide for the people I love. While I'm at "it," I have to be the best at doing so. Columbia would only set the foundation for the rest of my life together with the person who never gave up on me, and saw me through until I was better. Now, because of him, I can be the best._

_With all of that said, if my father never found out about what I'd stolen, how I was caught, how I'd gotten arrested, I would have had no one's fist and hateful words to run away from. I would have never escaped to the confined safe haven of the coffee shop where I met Kurt, and I would have never found the one person to turn my life around. _

_I would still be an angst-ridden teenager spiraling and slipping further into a hell I might have never been able to recover from. I wouldn't have been close to ever considering college, let alone an Ivy League. I believe in myself now. I believe that I can do this. That I will do this._

_I, with the help of only one person, have proudly turned myself around. Each sputter of hate and homophobia is chewed in and spit out, and I'm pretentiously using their negativity and yanking it fitfully by the balls. (Sorry, I know that you are an especially prestigious institution, but I'm saying it like I'm seeing it, and balls were yanked with extreme force during my time of overcoming the negativity of my life.)_

_I love my boyfriend more than I've loved anyone else, seriously. I know what you're thinking – high school relationships never last. Maybe this one won't, but maybe it will. I don't know what our future holds and I don't know if we're meant to be forever yet. To be honest, I don't know much about anything. (All the more reason to enroll in an awesome school that could easily provide me with the knowledge I'm eager to absorb?) I do know, however, that I have been changed for the better by the simple allowance toward someone else loving me the way I deserve to be loved. We may not have it all down perfectly, and there are always bumps in the road. I believe I overcame my trials and tribulations because I loved myself through the process, and I allowed someone else to love me, too. _

_By finding love, I overcame hate. _

_Love conquers all, Columbia._

Hopefully, Columbia University is going to get a kick out of this.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**Song in this chapter: Taylor Swift – State of Grace**

Even though Kurt hasn't slept in this bed regularly in several years, his presence surrounds Blaine now. As he drifts in and out of consciousness, Kurt is here. He's wrapped in Kurt's old blankets, lying on his old pillows, snuggling with a stuffed animal that Burt tells him Kurt's had since he was born. The Tenderheart Care Bear plush is old and worn, but perfectly soft and lumpy. The burnt orange fur is discolored and stained in spots he doesn't want to think about; the thing is probably full of twenty-eight-year-old spitballs from baby Kurt in the 1980s. He cuddles it closely to his body and takes his phone out to text his boyfriend goodnight from less than four miles away. He's surprised to get an immediate response.

_Kurt: Goodnight, B. Come back as soon as you can, okay? I miss you terribly…_

Blaine shoots to sit upward in Kurt's bed. He's worn out from crying over his college essay and over Kurt's injuries and the fact that he can do nothing to help him right this instant. He types like life depends on it.

**_Blaine: Hi! How are you feeling? Are the drugs wearing off? God baby, I'm not gonna be able to sleep until you come back to me. Are you in pain? What do you need?_**  
_Kurt: I need you to go to sleep so that you can be here all day tomorrow without any breaks. Where are you right now?_  
**_Blaine: At your dad's. He's really amazing, Kurt. He's been amazing._**  
_Kurt: I know, baby. You're safe there, okay? Don't you dare go back to your dad's._  
**_Blaine: Don't worry about me, I'm fine. Kurt, I love you so much. _**  
_Kurt: I love you, honey._  
_Kurt: So I think they have to wire my jaw shut. There's been lots of talk about a cracked jawbone, apparently. _  
**_Blaine: Fuck, Kurt. _**  
**_Blaine: You're sure you have no pain? They'll give you more pills but you have to ask. _**  
**_Blaine: I'm surprised you can type coherently. Are you sure you don't need more drugs?_**  
**_Blaine: How are your ribs?_**

Blaine knows what his father's favorite pastime is. Besides drinking, making sure that Blaine feels terrible about himself, and punching to watch his son bleed, it's breaking ribs.

_Kurt: No pain right now, baby. Stop worrying! They gave me a fake tooth today. Did you know they had dentists right here in the hospital? So there's extra pain meds. Besides, ribs are… fixable. Jaws are fixable, we'll both be fine I promise._  
**_Blaine: Get some rest, pretty boy. I'll be there busting the doors down first thing in the morning. _**  
_Kurt: I love you, you know._  
**_Blaine: I know that. I feel like sometimes that's all I know. I love you too._**  
_Kurt: I know you do. Don't be offended if I can't really talk to you tomorrow. Love you._

And if Blaine cries himself to sleep out of pure shame and guilt because he is _absolutely_ the reason why Kurt is laid up in a fucking hospital bed right now, then he doesn't tell a soul about it. He can hardly live with it himself.

* * *

Blaine wakes abruptly at seven, only out of the horror that is his hospitalized, beaten up boyfriend. His dead cell phone is thrown onto a charger, plugged in immediately, his tired eyes staring at it until it powers up and reveals any missed messages. Nothing. He messages Austin and explains the situation as best as he can through a text message, and to please cover for Blaine until further notice – he needs to stay at the hospital with Kurt. He plans to show his face at the Lima Bean in the next few days, and he promises Austin and Austin waves him off, expecting him to take care of Kurt first and foremost. Blaine Anderson is nothing if not responsible in crisis mode. Austin's reply is as expected and supportive, so Blaine showers quickly and heads downstairs only to be startled by Kurt's parents sitting at the kitchen table, discussing the situation quietly.

"Morning, kid. Want coffee? It's no Lima Bean…" Burt trails off and looks up at Blaine's splotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. He sighs.

"I can… just pick some up at the hospital. Thank you."

"Sit. It's barely eight and visiting hours aren't until nine. We'll drive you in when it's time."

Blaine obliges. There's nothing he can do. "Uhhh, Mr. Hummel. I texted with Kurt last night, he said something about wiring his jaw shut?" It comes out as a question; it's a hopeful inquiry, a question oozing out to determine how much his boyfriend's father knows about the case. "Do you know any details? He didn't really say much more…"

"Mmmm, that's news to me, kid. Did he say why?"

"Evidently, it's cracked." Blaine looks up at Burt, Blaine's eyes burning from the sudden condensation he feels when he really starts to think about Kurt's condition again, and the guilt that he holds for getting Kurt hurt in the first place. He allows an audible sob to escape, automatically throwing his fist to his mouth to shut him up. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Hummel. This is my fault entirely. I shouldn't have-" He pounds at his head twice and stomps his foot in true adolescent fashion. "I never wanted to hurt him."

Burt raises an eyebrow.

"I really, really fucking love your son, okay? I know that… it's probably wrong and frowned upon or whatever, but it just… It feels right with him, okay? And I know you weren't thrilled at Thanksgiving, I heard your conversation with him. And like, I can't blame you for hating me the first time I ever met you, that was seriously fucked up and I'm sorry about that too, and I'm sorry about Thanksgiving and overhearing your conversation with him and all of that, and I'm sorry for shying away from you after that, but I was scared. You have to know that I can't help my age, and we can't help that we fell for each other. I can't explain anything properly, I just can't believe I did this to him… shit!" Blaine is up and pacing through the kitchen, turning on his heel, and throwing himself the opposite way time and time again; this boy is laced with distress and anger and no place to store it.

Burt allows this to go on for a few seconds, silently pleading with Carole to tell him what to do. He slams his fist down on the table, immediately regretting it when he sees Blaine's body flinch, as if he's about to get knocked out and punched down by his father. _Shit_.

"Blaine. Hey! I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget- God, fuck!" Burt has a grasp on both of the boy's shoulders, trying to still him in any way he can. "It's probably true that this wouldn't have happened if Kurt didn't know you… but this is not your fault. Do you understand that? This is the last time we're having this conversation, do you understand me?"

"You _just_ said it wouldn't have happened if-"

"He _wants_ to know you, Blaine. Sometimes, I don't get why, and that's not meant to offend you, I'm trying to tell you the truth here and be honest with you because that's what you need. But I don't have to know why he loves you because the only thing that matters here is that he does, and that you do. You are all he talks about; it'd be almost annoying if he didn't get that fucking sparkle in his eye at the mention of your name. I love that you love my son, Blaine, and this is just a setback that you two will get through because you love each other, do you not?"

"We do." Blaine deflates and nods.

Burt shrugs and releases the boy from his hold. "That's all you need. Besides coffee and maybe a piece of toast. And a place to stay."

Blaine nods, once again dumbfounded by the support Burt radiates naturally. He's never seen anything like it. "Mr. Hummel, I don't think this is the end of my father."

"I don't think so either, kid. We'll figure it out. You're more than welcome here whenever or until you need. Or at least until we get that apartment of yours fixed up."

Blaine flushes crimson at the realization that Burt is aware of and not pissed off that they live together. _Yours, as in your apartment_. Flutters to the heart and butterflies in his stomach are incomparable favorite feelings for Blaine, especially when they are placed there because of something to do with Kurt.

He exists until it's time to see Kurt again, so they all pile into Burt's Mustang and Blaine thanks his lucky stars he's small enough to survive in the seriously tight back seat.

He thinks he might hear Burt mumble, "The only reason why Mustangs have back seats is for the insurance break."

* * *

"You break it off with him and you both will be left alone, boy."

Kurt's eyes are as wide as saucers, pupils dilated and scared. His arm is reaching to the call button that's just out of reach, not that he can move at all anyway. His eyes are shifting, scared to death, wishing into the depths of his soul that someone will just come through that door. Anyone. Anyone but Blaine.

"If not. Well, I'll kill him with my bare hands right in front of you. _Pretty boy_."

Tears fall, but his face feels dry. Somehow, he believes this man is dead serious. He's shaking his head furiously; apparently his neck is not broken or in the brace any longer. He's looking directly into familiar eyes, but not identical. These eyes are too angry; unlike Blaine's, there is not one ounce of love in these eyes.

"As soon as his faggot ass gets here, you break up with him. Send him on his merry way. Tell him he needs to come back home, or else."

Kurt whimpers and kicks with his unlevered leg at Christian Anderson, who's leaning across his chest to a point that should hurt, had he not been pumped with painkillers only hours before. Blaine's father flicks his thumb and middle finger to hit Kurt's forehead and slips out of the room.

Kurt's eyes squint all the way closed and he sobs, if only for seconds, thoroughly scared for his and his boyfriend's lives.

The panic attack that follows is the first of many. He's brought back immediately to the place where it all started. He's alone, in an alleyway, on the cold, hard ground, left for dead. He hyperventilates; he can't control his breathing, shallow and raw in his throat, barely surpassing his Adam's apple. He envisions the men kicking to demolish his ribs entirely, jolting them with purpose to make them a dusty powder that was once a hard shell of bone.

The nurse helps to shake him out of it. This is the second one since Blaine and his parents left the hospital, only hours earlier. He makes sure that his medical records are closed; he can't have them find out about the aftershocks yet.

* * *

Blaine raps on the closed door twice out of respect and peaks in with only his head. He grins at Kurt when he recognizes that Kurt is awake, staring into space anxiously waiting for visiting hours. Blaine puts an intricate vase filled to the brim with red and yellow roses on the bedside table and kisses Kurt's forehead.

The only difference Blaine can see when he pulls away is the brace-like contraption glued onto Kurt's teeth, wiring his mouth completely shut. The neck brace is gone, but has been since last night.

"Hey pretty boy. Miss me? I see they decided to glue your jaw shut. I miss your voice."

Kurt smiles softly and squeezes the hand closest to the chair that Blaine finally settles in.

Blaine continues. "So I'll just talk for the both of us." Blaine smiles at his boyfriend. He's trying to make a joke. "Um, well I accidently said 'fuck' in front of your father this morning. And 'shit.' Help me fix his impression of me? Put in a good word? We talked about Thanksgiving, and how I couldn't help falling for you. It was kind of awkward but at least we're past it now, right?" There's a beat. Blaine stares into Kurt's eyes and sighs. "God, I hardly got any sleep last night after we texted. I'm so anxious and like, scared that he knows where I am. I'm so worried he'd hurt more people just for knowing me. I'm so fucking sorry that it's you in here and not me."

Kurt hums and squints to try to capture any tears that might escape. Allegedly, a few fall and Blaine immediately wipes them away with his lips.

"Hey. Kurt, what's the matter? You look miserable. What do you need?" Blaine rubs his nose against his boyfriend's for one second before Kurt turns his head away. "Baby?"

Kurt waves him off and digs for his phone on the mattress below him. He types out a message to Blaine and looks at him for a reaction.

**Kurt: My jaw really, really hurts so I can't talk about it right now, but I can't do this anymore, B.**

Blaine's phone buzzes in his pocket. He sits back and opens the text message and looks back at Kurt. "You can't do what anymore, Kurt?" He takes Kurt's phone out of his hands and digs for the charger in his messenger bag, reaching behind the bed to plug it in. He hands the charging phone back to his boyfriend.

Kurt looks down into his hands and cries silently. His shoulders are shaking and his sobs are escaping now uncontrollably.

"Hey. Kurt, come on." Blaine sits on the edge of the bed with one knee bent up but one still anchored on the floor to keep his balance. He rubs at Kurt's forearm and chases eye contact. "Tell me, Kurt. What can't you do anymore? We can fix whatever it is. I know we were fighting about going too fast before, but… please, what can't you do? Have you been thinking about this for a while? Like before… all of this?" He tilts his head, cupping Kurt's cheek with his free hand, trying to comfort him in any way he can.

"We have to break up, B." He speaks now, nearly choking on each word, through clenched and cabled teeth. There is no eye contact to be had; Kurt's eyes are fastened closed with all of his might.

Blaine squints at his boyfriend, trying to read him. What could he possibly be thinking?

"_Kurt._"

"It's the only way. We're done."

"Oh my God." Blaine takes his hand back from Kurt's cheek to place it in front of his mouth, effectively holding back a girlish sob. As Blaine stares at Kurt with wide, shiny eyes, Kurt sits small and shifty, as still as possible, and although his eyes are open now, he's looking at his hands to avoid showing off the truth of the situation. Blaine thankfully sees right through it.

There is definitely more to this story, and it almost offends Blaine that Kurt thinks he can't read him. It admittedly takes a minute to comprehend, but when it clicks, it comes shattering down hard directly on his forehead. He knows exactly who's behind this, and it's the same sad excuse for a man that is responsible for putting the love of Blaine's life in the hospital in the first place.

"What did he say to you?"

Silence.

"Kurt. When was he here?"

Kurt resorts back to his text messaging. His jaw feels like it's going to disintegrate right there in his mouth.

**Kurt: How do you… Like three minutes ago.**

"Son of a bitch." Blaine's chair flies backward and he skillfully jumps over it and sprints into the hallway, down the stairs at the end, and out into the parking lot. He runs his fingers through his curls and twirls in place; there's no sign of his damn father. He looks up to the sky and rolls his eyes away from any tears that might escape. _Fuck_!

It takes everything in Kurt to raise his voice and yell after Blaine without the use of his jaw before he starts hyperventilating for the fourth time in the past twenty-four hours. He doesn't seem to have any control over the panic attacks, although the nurse continues to say that it's understandable and common among assault victims.

Kurt refuses to think of himself as a victim as soon as the nurse tries to reassure him after he's calmed down yet again.

Doctors and nurses alike fly past Kurt's parents as they rush down the hall and into Kurt's room, nearly spinning Burt, Carole and their coffee supply in a full circle, similar to a cartoon. Burt picks up his speed but Carole catches his arm at exactly the right moment, holding him back and out of the way.

Blaine returns from an unsuccessful trip to punch his father straight in the nose and sees the commotion, launching into a full run straight off the elevator. It's Burt's turn now to hold Blaine back until everything is better.

It's a strained day for everyone.

* * *

_December_

The days are dragging on; there's only so much entertainment within the pastel hospital walls and Kurt might actually die from boredom. Kurt's been in the hospital for observation for just about a week, and Blaine is forced back into school after the long weekend that comes with Thanksgiving.

December is finals and bullshit and Christmas break; Blaine's not really paying attention to anything except Kurt's well-being. His new routine becomes school, stopping by the Lima Bean to make sure all is well with Julie and Austin (Godsends. They've got it handled every time.), and rushing to the hospital to do his homework in silence with Kurt until they kick him out. They haven't had a chance to talk about what his father threatened. It's not comfortable for Kurt to talk, let alone argue, so they don't do much of either. Blaine is there for Kurt physically and definitely emotionally, should Kurt find he needs him. Blaine silently decides that he can hold off on the important conversations until after Kurt's jaw is better soon enough, and again Kurt takes Blaine's lead.

Even though both Kurt and Blaine have effectively filed restraining orders against Christian Anderson at Kurt's insistence, Kurt has become completely and utterly obsessed with Blaine's whereabouts, now that he's had to go back to school instead of being cooped up in Kurt's hospital room. As much as Blaine likes to be accounted for and appreciated, the sixteen daily text messages requesting his location and short sentences just to make sure he's "still there" are honestly freaking him out. He answers them compliantly to serve Kurt's needs, but he'll never admit just how annoying they've been. He sort of likes being cared for, as excessive as it's been.

He arrives at the hospital, as he normally does every weekday, always within the four o'clock hour, but never the same exact time dependent on what's going on at the Lima Bean.

"Hey, pretty boy. How are you feeling?" He throws his backpack on the floor and sits in his chair. Taking Kurt's hand, he smiles and kisses the skin above the IV.

Kurt is sitting taller than he usually is. Smiling at Blaine, he hums a hello and allows him to kiss his hand. "Fucking bored out of my mind. Want you but can't move. Frustrated I'm still here. Excruciating pain because I just said three sentences in a row out loud and they tightened the wires this morning and I swear there is one puncturing the root of my tooth or something."

Blaine kisses Kurt's jaw lightly, with no pressure at all so that he's not the cause of even more pain. "Should I get someone to look at your jaw? You don't have to say anything out loud. Just nod."

Kurt ignores Blaine's orders. "They said it's normal to be in pain after it's tightened, but Jesus."

"I know, babe. It sucks. Do you want to text? We can text or not even talk at all. Or I can talk and you can listen."

"Put on Bravo and lie with me. I don't want to talk anymore. It hurts."

Blaine reaches for the remote and flips through a few channels trying to find the particularly requested channel, and looks back to Kurt and shrugs. Kurt laughs and shrugs right back, watching Blaine's fingers continue to hit the arrow keys on the remote. When there's a swift knock on the door, they both startle, tensing at the possibility of it being Christian. Blaine protectively puts himself to sit on the side of the bed closest to the door so Kurt's view of it is partially obstructed.

"Excuse me, boys." Burt interrupts. There are two uniformed men behind Kurt's father. "These guys have some questions for you two. We've been pushing them off for a full week now. They have other cases to handle and really want to talk to you to get yours rolling."

Blaine immediately scrambles, tucking his ankle under his other leg as he bends both of his legs under him to sit on the bed Indian-style; out of sight, out of mind. He takes a second to steal a glance at Kurt, equally tensed with eyes only for the police officers.

"His, um. His mouth hurts right now. Can this not happen today? Please?" Blaine's pleading, but with no real reason. Maybe it's just the fact that he's scared shitless.

"Blaine, it's fine. I'll power through it." Kurt looks at him and nods, licking the infected area on the roof of his mouth and blindly feeling around for Blaine's hand. He finds it quickly and intertwines their fingers.

Reliving that night is the worst since Blaine doesn't know any of the details that happened in the alleyway. They're both crying, and at some point, Blaine creeps up to snuggle closely with Kurt. The electricity of their skin rubbing against each other, even if it's not sexually, is the jolt of life they each need especially during this conversation.

Blaine looks over to Burt several times, sitting in the corner and crying to himself. It's the first time that he's seen a grown man besides Kurt really cry, and he thinks it might be alright to be a little emotional, and maybe let a wall or two unfold for Kurt's family, too. He can tell that Burt cares.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

Kurt turns to look at Blaine just as Blaine turns to look at Kurt, then toward Burt in an almost-embarrassed fashion. Kurt and Blaine are so in sync with each other, sometimes it's mind blowing to Blaine: scary but perfect. Kurt nods an unspoken encouragement for only Blaine to see, as if to reiterate that he's safe. _You're safe here, baby._

"I… um. Mmmmm, he used to beat me up. When I lived with him."

The follow up interview to this tiny confession is nothing short of nerve-wrenching. Blaine could not possibly hide any of the tears now spilling out of his eyeballs like the basin at the end of the Mississippi River. As much of a disaster his appearance must be during the retelling of his childhood, his storytelling skills are nearly perfect and with each word rolling off his tongue, a heavy cinderblock lifts off his shoulder, crumbling into sand. All the while, Kurt's presence is all he needs. Burt is there as well, Carole having to go into work a bit early today (she works in the ER and they were especially busy), and it almost feels like Blaine needs him there too. They'll get through this, and they'll do it together.

There is an awkward silence, pens dragging across notebook paper at a rapid pace before the officers look back up at each other then to the couple.

"Anything else, guys?"

"He visited me my first morning here."

Blaine can hear Burt gasp and throw his chair back as he stands to hide his face by staring out the window he is closest to.

The detectives professionally ignore the minute commotion and response to the new details to incorporate into the case. "During visiting hours and before you filed the restraining orders? There's not much-"

"He threatened both of our lives if we stay… if we remained a couple." Kurt looks down into his lap, ashamed.

"He what? Kurt!" Blaine reacts in a way he regrets, jumping up so forcefully Kurt shivers back, frightened. Blaine quickly calms and reaches out for Kurt's cheek. "I'm sorry… shit. I'm sorry." He knows that Christian must have said some pretty terrible things to try to break them up, but he never thought a death threat would be one of them. Looking back, he's not sure why it never crossed his mind.

Kurt looks at Blaine, then Burt, then to the detectives. "I tried to break up with Blaine as soon as he came in, right after Christian left." There's a faint smile painted on his lips. "Obviously, he saw right through it and refused."

Burt speaks up now. "Kiddo, guys. That's not something to play around with."

Kurt ignores his father, instead squeezing Blaine's hand harder and snuggling a bit closer. In an almost-whisper, he explains. "That's why I insisted on the restraining orders. He called me 'pretty boy.' Said that if I didn't break up with you, he'd kill you right in front of me and then fuck me up too. Again." Kurt's voice cracks and he looks down at their intertwined fingers.

"Oh, _baby_."

Blaine wants to freak out, but somehow does not, not in front of the cops and definitely not in front of Burt. He can't be arrested for going ape shit in a hospital. He'd be taken away, never to see Kurt again, and then his own father would have gotten what he wanted all along. He can't be arrested for seething and grinding his teeth, for turning a deep red from the tips of his toes to the ends of his ears, though.

"Shhh, B. We'll talk." Kurt gives him a pointed look as if to say "_Stay calm, baby. Not now, don't freak out now_." Kurt's eyes flutter to his in a stern expression telling him to sit the fuck down and shut up.

Blaine does what is subconsciously suggested.

"How bad is the pain now, babe?"

"Hanging in there. Gonna need a pill right after they leave."

The cops are nodding, observing, writing, and whispering to each other before they thank them for their time. There are _implications_, they say, given Mr. Anderson's rank within the Ohio court system, his likability throughout the public. Blaine knows all of this; he understands that this is why it was always brushed under the rug in the past. This backhanded comment causes more pen-to-paper scratching and writing as if life depends on it.

"Back to you, Blaine. You've reported all of your abuse before?" One of the officers is dying to know.

Blaine squirms at the term, "abuse."

"Not officially, I guess. But they knew. I know they knew. We'd have… Christmas parties and stuff and everyone from the firm came by. It was kind of all really obvious, looking back now."

It causes another unreadable glance between the two detectives, and another squeezed hand between Kurt and Blaine. Burt finds his way to the side of the bed, closest to Kurt.

"Okay, so judging by everything you've told us today and the state of the apartment, this would be considered a hate crime. As you two probably know, though, a hate crime is a moot point in the state of Ohio, so it isn't likely that we would be able to go after Mr. Anderson for anything like that."

Kurt and Blaine exchange a look and sigh. This isn't news to them in the slightest, both boys having had to deal with bullies in the past and never being allowed to call it a "hate crime."

The cop continues. "Our safest bet is to go with the assault, pain and suffering, as well as child-abuse, assuming that we're able to bring that back even though you've turned eighteen already, Blaine. I need to check the laws, but so long as we are within the time frame, that could only add to it. From there, it would be easy to prove that Mr. Hummel was attacked because he is dating you. It won't officially be a hate crime, but I think it's safe to say that it's how it would look, at least to the people around here who aren't homophobic, and thus would ruin his reputation especially since I know for a fact that he's represented men and women in domestic violence cases against their gay or lesbian partners." The cop grits his teeth and rubs his thumb across a ring on his left fourth finger. "Anyway, your case would turn domestic at that point; it could actually be a loophole into it looking like a hate crime without it being officially classified as one." He explains, best as he knows how.

Blaine is shaking his head. "I don't think we should bring me into this. It's one thing to get locked up for beating up a stranger, but I think he would actually kill me if I was the reason to ruin his life any more than I already have."

Kurt looks at Blaine and squeezes his hand. "He ruined his own life, babe."

"Whatever. You know what I mean. He already hates me beyond words, why throw fire on top of fire?"

The detective considers what Blaine has said and nods slightly. "Think about it. For the record, I think it would help Kurt's case, and it would lock him up for at least a few more years on top of whatever sentence he'll receive for Kurt's assault. Assuming that the court would be willing to file the paperwork at that time. It may be too late. We have to look into it."

"It has the potential to help Kurt's case, though?" Blaine's ears perk up at exactly those words, so much so he needs to repeat them.

"I think it would, assuming we can even get your case added. It definitely wouldn't hurt."

"And he'd be locked away for a long time? As in, he won't be able to find me? Or Kurt? He won't be able to find us?" Blaine is aware he sounds like a little kid, but he needs to protect himself and Kurt, so the thought quickly disappears.

"I'm not supposed to make promises kid, and I'm not. But the chances of your father going to jail for a long time are pretty high."

"Do it. Include my history with him in the case." Blaine nods to himself and then looks at Kurt. "I want to make Kurt's case better without risking his life anymore. Include me, please."

"Is it difficult to try for attempted murder, officer?" Kurt finds his voice, although his jaw is throbbing and stabbing with each movement, after all of the talking and explaining.

"We're going back to the precinct now and we'll share all of the information you told us so far. My first suggestion for you, though, is to get a lawyer. We have a lot of research to do and will cooperate with your representation as much as we can, but this conversation will be recorded into the police report. If we were in New York or California, this would be the easiest hate crime conviction there is. But we're not. We will try to get him on whatever is going to make him rot in there for as long as possible. We can promise that much." The other officer answers for his partner.

Kurt and Blaine nod.

They draw back, thank them again, and disappear. Burt looks at them both for a few seconds, nods, and leaves behind the officers.

"Kurt!" Blaine punches at the mattress Kurt is lying on and screws his face up when Kurt visibly flinches again. "Fuck. I'm sorry." There's a beat; two boys, staring into each other's eyes, wishing the other happiness and the deletion of all pain, physical and emotional. There is a sigh, dangerously in sync, and a tilt of two heads as if the other is a mirror. Blaine continues. "Why the fuck would you not tell me any of that? You just fucking listened to him, did whatever he told you to? Just like that?"

"He said he'd _kill_ you, Blaine. You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the exact same thing if he told you to break up with me or else I die." Kurt is surprisingly calm and collected.

"Why are you not bothered by this at all?"

"It's not worth it. They're literally going to arrest him right now and hopefully, we can both move on from all the shit he's put me through this one time, and all the shit you've lived through your entire life, B! We can't let the things he's done define our happiness."

"It's not worth it? Was I ever fucking worth it to you, Kurt? Jesus! Are we even… am I even your boyfriend anymore?" Blaine chokes through tears streaming down his face; his hands find his hair again as he paces in circles next to the window in Kurt's private hospital room.

"What? Did you think, all this time… my jaw hurts, baby. Please. Let's talk about it later. But yes, of course we're still together. I thought I was doing what I was supposed to in order to _protect_ you at the time. I was willing to give away all of my happiness I've had by being with you so that you can have your life, B. You have to understand that. You would have done the same thing." Kurt tastes blood on the inside of his mouth.

Blaine looks over at him and nods, visually calming. He sits at the edge of the bed and takes Kurt's IV'ed hand in both of his. "Of course I would have done the same thing. You know that."

"You can't get rid of me. Not that easily and especially not because of him. Do you underst-" Kurt's lips turn upward at the sensation of the tingle felt when rubbing them together after he puts on Burt's Bees as Blaine presses his mouth against his. It's been one full week since they've kissed, mainly in fear of hurting Kurt's face, and Kurt will be damned if this isn't what it feels like to be coming home. He opens his lips as an invite but winces when Blaine instinctively jolts his tongue out only to meet the metal of the braces on Kurt's teeth.

"_Fuck_." Blaine whispers through his small smile, brushing each movement against Kurt's mouth. Blaine nips at his bottom lip and pulls away.

Kurt's holding back a giggle as he looks back up at Blaine. "Don't know how to kiss me without getting dirty, huh? You're so not innocent, sir. Raunchy, even."

Blaine laughs, "There is nothing innocent about me and you, Hummel."

Kurt hums. His jaw really is killing him. "I love you, too, Blaine. Tell the nurse I need a painkiller or twelve?"

Blaine laughs and reaches over him to press the call button. "Kurt, are we still going too fast?"

"Mmmmm." Kurt looks at him and smiles a small smile just for Blaine. He mumbles in an attempt to not move his mouth any more than absolutely necessary. "I think our relationship just matured a hundred times by this whole thing. Whatever I was saying about it before doesn't matter anymore. I'm yours completely and for as long as you'll have me. Now stop making me talk. Seriously, I'm dying."

"Me too, pretty boy. Me too."

"You're dying?" Kurt smirks and pulls him closer.

"No, asshole. I'm yours completely." Blaine shrugs and kisses his cheek.

The nurse responds to the call with a new dosage, and Blaine backs away without losing eye contact with his beautiful boyfriend. He sighs, full of relief and sinks into the uncomfortable chair in the corner, allowing the nurse to do what she does best. He watches her as she checks the inside of Kurt's cheek, cut up and bruised from talking too much. He slowly drifts, turning to stare out the window and thinking about his fucked-up family and the crazy situation he finds himself in with Kurt. He grits his teeth and turns back to Kurt to get a breath of fresh air.

Kurt and the nurse are speaking quietly, as though they don't want the words to be audible to anyone but each other.

Blaine finds it strange, but understandable, as there is a certain level of confidentiality in the nurse's position.

When Kurt's chest begins to heave up and down uncontrollably, and when the nurse reaches to press the panic button before bending to soothe Kurt again, Blaine jumps to his feet to help. He's never witnessed a panic attack before, but by the look of Kurt's dangerous eyes and insurgent shaking, Blaine is relatively certain he's seen one now.

Kurt's eyes leak with moisture as he rocks back and forth, despite the pressure and revolting pain in his abdomen. His leg is flailing as much as it would if it wasn't injured at all, and the nurse is sternly explaining that he's going to hurt himself even more if he doesn't calm down. These words don't register with Kurt until Blaine steps in.

"Kurt, baby. We know you're strong, but you don't have to prove anything. Lie here with me and let's just relax. Stay calm, my pretty boy. Shhh. I love you baby, love you so much." Blaine takes Kurt in his arms, effectively throwing the nurse off of him.

"You… you have to go... he's going to… Blaine, fuck! Get the fuck out! Please don't die, don't let him… Blaine! Out!" Kurt can't speak properly through the sobs, or through the wires for that matter. He gives up on speaking and lets Blaine rock him gently and with a lot less force than he was doing for himself seconds before. When Kurt cries himself to sleep leaning against his boyfriend, Blaine struggles to lower the body in his arms to the bed without causing too much pain. He leaves the hospital room feeling responsible, deflated, and powerless against every emotional issue Kurt will ever have from this point forward.

* * *

Blaine meets up with Burt again and they head home, taking more time than usual on the relatively quick route. Kurt's father is so nice to have welcomed Blaine into his home while Kurt's in the hospital and while the apartment above the Lima Bean is wrecked.

Before he's even aware, he's removing his shoes at the front door and heading through the foyer into the kitchen to grab a drink before retreating to Kurt's high school bedroom. He's exhausted, and if he can sleep for a few hours tonight, that'd be great. He's not surprised to see Carole at the very end of her dishwashing chore after baking cupcakes.

"Hey, Carole."

Carole startles and turns around. "Hey, sweetie. You guys are home early. What's up?"

Blaine smiles. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. You're home early too." He opens the refrigerator and cracks a can of Diet Coke.

She smiles back. "They call so many people in when it's busy and then take it back when it slows back down. I came up to see you guys but you were in with the detectives so I came home. How's Kurt?"

"His mouth hurts. They tightened the wires this morning, I guess, so it doesn't feel so great?" He takes a sip and resists the urge to moan; his lips were so parched. "On top of all his pain, he had to talk out loud to the cops a lot, and then he wound up crying himself to sleep after a panic attack." Blaine sighs, the action turning into a yawn immediately.

Carole sighs. "He's been having his fair share. It's a long road to recovery after something like that, you know."

"He has?"

Carole finishes her task and turns her head to look back at him again. She's been visiting with Kurt whenever she has free time at the hospital, whether it be in between shifts or in between patients; Carole makes time for her son. "I can't tell you details, but it's all within the normal amounts after something as terrifying as this. It's all part of the recovery, sweetie. I know you want to make him better, but it takes time."

"I'm trying to help, but I'm scared of pushing him too hard."

"It'll all be better soon enough, Blaine. I can promise you that. You boys have been through the wringer. Go on up and get some rest. You look exhausted."

"Yeah, I skipped the Lima Bean to get to Kurt quicker. Don't tell the boss."

"How are you managing with that? Did Burt find you that bank account number?" Blaine figured he should start depositing the money from the Lima Bean, as there may not be enough in the account for operational funds.

"No, but it's okay. There's really not a lot of cash. I've been depositing the checks with Kurt's phone and according to Julie, the credit card slips have a way of working themselves out. I'll never understand it."

Carole looks at Blaine fondly. "You could ask Kurt. He'd appreciate you running the place in his absence."

"He shouldn't have to think about that kinda stuff right now. I just want him to concentrate on getting better."

She sits at the table. "Sweetie, you know that you don't have to take everything onto your shoulders, right? Burt and I are both here to help with anything you need, especially when it comes to the coffee shop or any other things that you've taken on instead of getting sleep. You're far too young to be exhausted. You just ask, okay? I don't need my other son right up next to Kurt in the hospital being treated for exhaustion." She winks up at him, approaches him to kiss his cheek, and turns to go to bed.

Blaine is left standing in the middle of the kitchen with a half-full Diet Coke to revel in the fact that he finally feels like he has a mother. And a father, come to think about it. And it's all because of Kurt. This pushes him even more to be exactly what Kurt will always need.

* * *

This new laissez-faire family has captured a routine that includes a breakfast eaten together every morning followed by a ride from Burt into school on the way to the shop every weekday, or a breakfast followed by a ride to the hospital every weekend. After school Monday through Friday, Blaine visits Kurt at the hospital after he checks in at the Lima Bean. He wants to have as much time with Kurt as possible so he modifies his schedule until it's a perfect one.

As time goes on, Blaine reluctantly starts to write himself back into the schedule at the Lima Bean, if only because of Santana's pestering about the police. Austin and Julie both haven't gotten paid since Thanksgiving, and when Blaine tries to pay them cash from his own savings account, they refuse wholeheartedly. They insist it be taken care of when Kurt is out of the hospital and not a moment before. They both reassure him that they are fine financially and it's kind of nice to be forced to be on a strict budget, anyway. His schedule changes to two times a week closing down the Lima Bean and visiting Kurt for only an hour or two before that on those days only. The remaining days, he stays until visitor's hours are over and the nurse on duty is pulling at his sleeve to send him home.

Before he realizes what's happening, Blaine starts noticing that Burt is dropping hints left and right that they should get started on fixing up the apartment, not because he's kicking him out of his house, but because it'd be a great project to distract everyone with. They quickly decide that they'll think about it after Kurt is safe and sound, home and recovering. Blaine's not sure how he'll have any time to indulge on this new project while waiting on Kurt hand and foot as he plans to do when Kurt gets home, but it's something he's determined to manage. Everything he does is for Kurt.

Burt puts Blaine in charge of the decorative details; he says he will not be held responsible for any design flaws in Kurt Hummel's world. Blaine figures it'd be easier for Kurt to forgive the boy who gives him sex than Burt and for this reason only, Blaine agrees to have everything picked out by the time Kurt gets home from the hospital.

Things are almost back to normal, except for Kurt's lack of attendance next to Blaine as he tries to fall asleep every single night to no avail. It's a constant _go-schedule-go_ of the Lima Bean, the hospital, researching paint colors and new curtains and fabrics that would fit within Kurt's taste, checking in regularly with Santana as both a friend and a kid on probation, and on his backburner: schoolwork.

The hours in which Blaine should be sleeping are usually spent sitting vertically up in bed, typing away on Kurt's laptop, running through applications to any college in New York he can find. He hasn't told a soul about this yet; not even Kurt knows. Blaine hopes that Kurt would consider escaping with him to New York after Blaine's graduation especially after all that's happened in small-town-Ohio, and as he starts to grow tired around three every morning, he succumbs to slipping into a nap with a cold space next to him. This is every night as of late and he's really beginning to hate it.

He wakes four hours later to do it all over again.

Blaine quickly normalizes the routine and can almost get away with seamlessly managing everything by himself, except that Carole and Burt insist on helping out at the Lima Bean every weekend so he can cross himself off the schedule every single Saturday and Sunday and pick up one shift during the week to technically adhere to his probation rules. They set a new schedule and it feels really great to have support from parents that aren't even his. At least until Kurt comes home, it's a nice break to truly catch up on everything he pushes aside during the week. He spends his weekend mornings sleeping in, making sure he can store enough sleep for the rest of the week. He casually makes breakfast and heads to the hospital with his schoolwork when he can. Once all routines are set in order, three weeks fly by like he's a candle in the wind somehow holding on to the flame.

* * *

It's been twenty-two days since that cursed morning after Thanksgiving and only five days until Christmas. Kurt's finally up and sitting on the edge of the bed that was dangerously close to molding to his body, and he's so ready to get the hell out of this hospital. He's ready to be shuffled off back home, and although Blaine and Burt have bonded over the opportunity to remodel the apartment, they've told him it's not even close to being ready. Actually, it hasn't been started and Kurt's not entirely sure if Blaine and Burt will ever really get around to it. At this point, he's not positive that he could ever return to the apartment over the Lima Bean anyway, so he hasn't pushed it.

According to Blaine, it's only in the planning stages right now, but coming along nicely and it should be ready around the middle of January or beginning of February. Until then, they are obviously more than welcome to stay with Burt and Carole. Kurt obliges because it is better this way; Blaine shouldn't be responsible for every little thing during the recovery period, Kurt is sure of that much. Burt agrees with all of Kurt's reasoning, although the complex thinking process behind it on Burt's part is certainly not because Blaine _couldn't_ take care of Kurt, it's simply that he has more important things to focus on, like graduating high school and managing his quickly piling schoolwork that's been an afterthought for too long.

Also according to Blaine, the charges that were pressed against Christian Anderson were enough to get him arrested and keep him locked up with no opportunity to post bail. Kurt, always playing devil's advocate, wonders how that could be true if the charges were _only_ for beating up Kurt once in an alleyway and threatening his life if he didn't break up with his boyfriend, not to mention the breaking and entering, since the statute of limitations had come and gone when it comes to Blaine's case of child abuse. Blaine intelligently explains that because it should turn into a manslaughter/attempted murder case, and although Christian Anderson also beat up his son for years, and they're not allowed to officially count all of that, it might be easier than they think since their lawyer "slipped" by mentioning Blaine's history with his father and the jury will never be able to unhear something as brutal as kicking a fourteen-year-old down a flight of stairs. ("_He may have exaggerated since that just happened like a few months ago, but the younger I was flying down the stairs, the more sympathy… or something._") Blaine says they might be able to take the domestic violence part to federal court where it could be heard as a hate crime case, and it would go a long way in the court system, especially with the current president, although it's never frowned upon on the streets. This, Blaine says, could be the start of some real awareness.

_Adorable, passionate Blaine wants to fight on my behalf. God, that boy._

Blaine looks proud of himself and even giddy for the first time since Kurt's met him as he's explaining the gritty details.

"Have you ever thought about being a lawyer, Harvey Milk?" Kurt says with a smirk. "You'd be the cutest, most passionate activist politician guy with a law degree this side of the twentieth century."

Blaine tilts his head and smirks right back, mirroring the image of Kurt's face he sees in front of him. He's always been fascinated by what's lawful and what's not, and punishments and fights to get actions reprimanded or not. He's never thought of being a lawyer, though, because he's never wanted to be something that his father is.

Christian, however, is no longer a lawyer, at least for now. He has gotten his credentials taken away until the investigation is completed, until further notice, but the newly hired hot shot lawyer from Columbus that Burt has brought on thinks Christian Anderson doesn't have a chance to see sunlight again, especially with his slip of history that's "not relevant" but may have actually bought them the case. Although equal marriage isn't broadly accepted yet, their lawyer assures them that the jury feels for Blaine and Kurt over Blaine's fire-breathing dragon of a father – official hate crime or not.

* * *

Kurt opens and shuts his mouth, listening for the click behind his ear the doctor said he might hear for the rest of his life with every movement. He slowly pushes himself up on his good leg, hopping his way to the wheelchair Carole's co-worker is holding in place for him, and he lowers himself, shifting until there's comfort. The nurse whirls around to the front of the chair to situate the footrest so his leg can elevate. He opens and shuts his mouth wider this time, just for proof that he can. He nods to himself in relief and patiently waits for the rest of his family to get there so he can go home.

Blaine nudges at the door, grinning wildly at his incredible, strong, totally fixable boyfriend.

"Hey, pretty boy! Ready to go home?"

"Oh my God, Blaine, look!" Grins are seemingly infectious, thank God for Blaine. He shows off his opening and closing mouth. His eyelashes flutter.

_My boyfriend has no idea how fucking sexy he is. _Blaine loses his bedside manner, forgetting where they are, and plants a hard kiss directly to Kurt's lips in a sincere attempt to bruise them.

Unbeknownst to either of them in this moment, the nurse is definitely still in the room.

_I never saw you coming _  
_I'll never be the same_  
_This is a state of grace_  
_This is the worthwhile fight_  
_Love is a ruthless game_  
_Unless you play it good and right_  
_These are the hands of fate_  
_You're my Achilles' heel_  
_This is the golden age of something_  
_Good and right and real_  
_And I never saw you coming_

Blaine pulls back to stare at Kurt for a second before launching to attack Kurt's face and sticking his tongue in his mouth. "Mmmm, I love how you taste."

"Missed this." Kurt bites down on Blaine's lip and pulls.

Blaine leans over Kurt, only putting pressure on the arm rests of the wheelchair. The majority of his weight is still leaning on his own feet as his eyes gaze down his boyfriend's body and he sighs. "Jesus, baby. You lost so much weight, you're so tiny." Apprehensively drawing a horizontal line with his fingertips across Kurt's lower stomach, Blaine plays connect the dots and the dots are each of Kurt's pointy, underweight hip bones. He lowers his voice. "I am so going to break you, later."

Kurt gives him a pointed look that turns into a grin, "Mmmm, liquefied everything for weeks. Bring me to pizza?"

"That, we can do!" He steps back and out of the way so the wheelchair doesn't run over any of his toes.

The nurse rolls Kurt out to the hallway where Burt and Carole are waiting, having patiently given the two their privacy. Blaine slings Kurt's bag over his shoulder and bounces out of the room, never to look back again. He shoves the bag all the way behind him and takes Kurt's hand, kissing it with all the love he has to give.

Burt laughs at them and slaps Blaine on the shoulder. "What'd he say?"

Blaine looks up at the tall and semi-intimidating man. He's not scared anymore. His grin grows to eat his face off. "Pizza."

Kurt laughs, blissful in this moment of absolute happiness and acceptance into the family.

* * *

Burt's already called in the order at Breadstix for take-out. After a few challenging minutes of trying to get Kurt comfortably situated in the back seat of his Navigator, he winds up sideways with his forced-straight leg resting longways on the seat, his foot elevated on Blaine's lap. Blaine wishes he wouldn't lean on the door so roughly, but it's the only option they have for now.

Burt whirls carelessly into the parking lot and pulls on the door's handle to exit.

"Really, Dad?" Kurt saves his face before it smashes into the back of the front seat's head rest.

"Oh! I'll get it, Burt!" Blaine opens his door and smiles at Kurt. He slips out from under his boyfriend's injured leg and rushes to the door.

The entire family watches Blaine escape the cold, rushing inside the restaurant.

Kurt's the first to speak. "Burt, huh?"

Kurt's parents laugh, synchronized and simple. "And I'm finally Carole!" Carole adds, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good." Kurt forces a smile, stretching out his good leg, and rests his casted ankle on top.

"You okay, kid?" Burt turns around to face his son.

Kurt nods. "Everything just hurts, or is at least sore."

"You just focus on getting better. Me and Blaine will take care of everything else."

"How's the coffee shop?"

"It's fine. We couldn't find any checks from your account so you'll have to give one of us the account number so we can go deposit all the cash from the past few weeks. Blaine's been taking care of it all during the week and we handle it over the weekends."

"He came to the hospital after school, though?" It comes out as a question; Kurt can't fathom how a high school senior has such a full plate and still manages to stay awake. He finally understands what Blaine's been going through for him and feels bad.

"He's been handling a lot, sweetie." Carole pipes in and smiles at Kurt. She reaches for his hand and they have a moment. "But nothing he can't handle. We're taking good care of him, too."

"God, that boy." Kurt closes his eyes to keep the tears in. "He's been okay?"

"A joy to have around, honey." Carole smiles.

Burt's laugh echoes through Kurt's heart and they wait for Blaine to come back with the pizza for several silent minutes.

Blaine quickly but carefully slips in after handing off their dinner to Carole in the front seat and gives Kurt a confused look when he mouths "love you" to him. Kurt takes his hand and squeezes, wiping his eyes from inevitable tears. When Blaine catches wind that he's crying, he swipes the padding of his thumb against Kurt's cheeks and they share a moment of willing themselves into the depths of the other's soul.

They make their way back to the house and Kurt is sure that he has the absolute best support system as his boyfriend and his father both hover over him to confirm that he's sure and steady on his crutches. Once he's in and safe on the couch, Blaine runs back to the car for his bag. When he comes back inside, Burt already has two slices and goes to his office to "answer emails." Carole needs to catch up on her reading assignment for the book club meeting tomorrow. Kurt's grateful that his parents don't smother him anymore like they did in high school, and especially now that he has Blaine to be with.

Blaine's taken to the caregiver role quite nicely, plating a slice for each of them and finding bottles of water and rushing back to Kurt's side. "Hey, lover. You good?"

Kurt hums in response and bites into his pizza. "Catch me up on what I missed in the real world."

"Like what?"

"Dad said you went to the Lima Bean every day?"

"Most days." Blaine says with a shrug. "Turns out I'm amazing at scheduling. And storing cash in boxes under our bed upstairs." At Kurt's face urging him to go on, Blaine continues, "I didn't have your bank account number, and I didn't want to bother you until we knew you were all okay, so I have a couple grand right upstairs." He nods his head toward the ceiling.

"What about the checks?"

"Hacked into your remote deposit app on your phone every time you were sleeping. There were only like four of them."

"Credit cards?"

"Julie took care of everything else. She's amazing. She's…" he shrugs, "she should be promoted. Austin was good too. I couldn't have done it without them and your parents." He smiles.

"I'll take your comments into consideration, my little personal assistant."

"That's assistant manager to you." Blaine's chomping away at his pizza and glances over at Kurt. "Best pizza ever?"

"You have no idea."

Blaine grins, purposely showing some chewed up food sitting on his tongue, and laughs at the crinkle of Kurt's nose and the fierce closure of his eyes. It's exactly the expected reaction Blaine needed to feel like things are almost normal again.

He inches closer to Kurt and smiles through the inhalation of his slice of pizza. All is very close to being right in the world.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**Songs used in this chapter: **  
**Daft Punk – Get Lucky**  
**Billy Joel – Just The Way You Are**

As usual, the boys fall into a routine together and they make it work as flawlessly as they can with Blaine's schedule and Kurt's inability to do much of anything. Because Kurt is out of commission for a while and can't drive until his doctor's approval, Blaine borrows Kurt's car to take to school sometimes so it's easier to get to the Lima Bean and back in a timely fashion. Saturday mornings are set aside for their weekly work session, although Kurt's parents insist they can help, too. Kurt ignores Burt and Carole every time it's brought up as Blaine snickers while setting everything they'll need that day on the kitchen table. They spread out and discuss everything that's happened at the Lima Bean the past seven days. Kurt's well enough to think about payroll and ordering supplies and scheduling. They sit for hours over homemade breakfast and lattes, going through anything they can from Blaine's notes of the overall operations from the week prior. Whatever Kurt can do from his laptop, he does, and Blaine takes over any task that Kurt needs for the general operation of the coffee shop to run smoothly while his boyfriend betters himself at home. It's a hybrid team effort, and somehow it all works.

On the third Saturday morning, Burt walks in on Blaine waiting on Kurt hand and foot. They have seemingly set up shop in the living room rather than their usual spot in the kitchen and Kurt has his leg elevated, as he should, barking out the end of an order just as the door vibrates with a slam.

"-Blaine? Please make sure you put ice so it stays cold."

Blaine slides into the living room seconds later with a tall glass of iced tea, complete with a freshly sliced lemon balancing on the rim. He hands the drink to Kurt, who smiles brightly at him in thanks, before Blaine takes off again with their dirty plates from breakfast. He finds his way back into the kitchen, turning around at the last second to make sure that Kurt's not too cold and that he doesn't need to grab another blanket from the closet in the hallway.

Kurt says, "Whenever you get a minute. No big deal, babe." And this is when Burt snaps. Blaine's rushing around the kitchen to straighten up and put unused ingredients back where they belong while the sink fills up with sudsy water. He jogs back into the hallway and gets Kurt's requested blanket.

There's a faint sound of a kiss to the surface of skin before Burt's got Blaine back into his line of vision. He moves closer to Blaine and observes for one more second before he speaks up.

"He will unintentionally run you to the depths of hell trying to take care of him."

Blaine startles at the sink at the sound of his boyfriend's father's voice.

"Holy crap, Burt! Warn a guy before you talk!" Blaine smiles half-heartedly at him before turning to shut the water off, almost overflowed in the sink.

"You need a break. Know anything about cars?"

"No."

"All the more reason to learn."

From this Saturday on, Blaine reluctantly breaks himself away from Kurt around lunchtime to head to Hummel's Tire and Lube to help Burt until about three before they call it a day and go together to the apartment over the Lima Bean. They work to check in on the coffee shop, redecorate the apartment upstairs (a slow and grueling process), take pictures of the progress for Kurt's approval, and head home for dinner around seven. This is every Saturday of every week. Blaine thrives in a structured schedule, especially when he's busy getting things done, even if he misses Kurt in the meantime.

* * *

There's one Saturday in particular, though, when Kurt is obviously and completely uncomfortable, hardly even speaking to Blaine, having tripped and twisted his bad leg only an hour earlier trying to make it to the restroom and back without requiring any help.

Blaine plops down on the couch next to Kurt and looks at him, pain in his eyes and a frown on his lips. "I don't believe you."

Kurt keeps contact with the couch but turns his neck slowly to look over at Blaine. "You don't believe me?"

"When you say you're fine."

"Oh, don't start. I _am_ fine. You need to go to the shop and then to the Lima Bean if you want and then come home to me with dinner. I'm fine, baby."

"You're not fine, Kurt! You're uncomfortable and probably still in serious pain despite me filling you up with any painkiller you're allowed to have and you want me to just leave you like this when actually I'm the one who should have a broken whatever and be housebound for months. I should be suffering, not you."

"I have a suspicious feeling that your father knows that your emotional suffering hurts more than beating you up because you were actually sort of used to that, weren't you? And he knows you care about me enough to hate the sight of me housebound for months, don't you?"

Blaine sighs and takes his hand. "I'm staying with you today. I don't care if that's considered my father winning whatever fucked up game we're playing with him. I want to make sure you're okay."

"You don't have to stay with me."

"I am, though."

"If you must. But you don't have to." Kurt's lips point up and Blaine has to bite the bottom one; there's no other choice. They kiss with passion and break away in the same second.

"I've been thinking about something a lot lately. I want to apologize to you."

Kurt leans back and looks Blaine in the eye. "Blaine. It's still not your fault. It wasn't your fault two days ago when we had this conversation and it's not going to be your fault in a week when we have it again. Stop."

"No, pretty. Hear me out. When we first met, over the summer. I was really mean to you at first and I said a lot of things that I didn't mean. I've been thinking about the first few times that we spoke and I'm really sorry I was the way I was."

"Oh, Blaine."

"I'm just really happy right now and I regret how we started."

"But then it wouldn't be as exciting! Sometimes, I feel like I live in a video game with you."

Blaine laughs and repositions his body to snuggle into Kurt lightly. "Don't start naming your Atari games, old man."

"I'm happy you're staying home today." Kurt rests his head on Blaine's hair and sighs.

"Hurting you?"

"Shhhh. We're napping now." Kurt grabs the remote, conveniently laid out next to him on the couch, and hits play for whatever DVD is already in the player. They settle into a position for the entirety of the afternoon, nowhere to be but with each other.

* * *

The twelfth Saturday creeps up on them, and Kurt can finally breathe easier. Progress is being made, and every gasp of air no longer feels like he's lacking the oxygen necessary in his lungs, and the once-shifted ribs begin to settle back to their original positions. His three-month checkup since coming home from the hospital comes back with positive test results, and the doctor is ready to remove the uncomfortably itchy cast on his leg the following Wednesday.

It's been a long road to the physical recovery and he's not quite seeing the light to one hundred percent just yet, but so much closer than three months ago. Santana's been there for him virtually every weekday in between appointments to help keep his spirits up and to fetch anything he needs while Blaine and his parents are at school or work, respectively. Blaine has been there whenever he can with his incredible optimism Kurt never realized he had to begin with. Burt comes home for lunch more often than not during the week, mainly to check in with his son, and Carole maintains a text conversation almost constantly to the point where Kurt wonders if she even works in the Emergency Room at all. He wholeheartedly concludes that he's a lucky guy to have such love in his life, all of his loved ones dedicated completely to his recovery and mental health.

Wednesday afternoon comes quickly; the early spring air is finally mild instead of the harsh brisk air they've had to deal with for too long.

(Kurt is grateful his immobility took him through the dead of winter – at least he had an excuse to watch from the window as Burt and Blaine shoveled all the cars out of mountains of snow on an almost-daily basis. Every single time, Blaine would come inside, freezing but sweating and on the verge of hypothermia with frozen fingertips, a Rudolph-red nose and icicles forming on his eyelashes. It's always been Kurt's job to warm him up with a squeeze to his torso, a kiss to any part of his face he could reach, and a cheek to his chest.)

Kurt takes one last sip of his iced tea, the glass already creating a ring on the coffee table from the condensation (why Burt Hummel doesn't own a coaster is beyond him), and launches himself up on his crutches to putz around the kitchen. Blaine lured him to the bedroom right after dinner last night for the first time since forever, so there wasn't much time for clean-up. Cringing when he looks into the sink, Kurt hops to the stereo and presses play on his iPod stationed there, and starts to fill the sink, squirting soap so it bubbles and foams. Hand washing is so much easier these days than bending to place items into the dishwasher. He doesn't mind it though; he reminisces back to college when there was no option.

* * *

Blaine charges the door and flies through it, throwing his messenger bag into the corner of the foyer in one fluid moment. "Pretty boyyyy!"

At the hint of muffled music, he stalks to the kitchen where he finds Kurt leaning against the sink with one crutch under his armpit, scrubbing at a pot used last night.

The casted leg is eerily still but the rest of his body is bopping to the music coming through the stereo. Daft Punk has been Kurt's favorite since he was Blaine's age, and he's been in a habit of rediscovering their old stuff lately with nothing better to do.

_The present has no ribbon_  
_Your gift keeps on giving,_  
_What is this I'm feeling?_  
_If you wanna leave I'm ready_

_We've come too far to give up who we are_  
_So let's raise the bar and our cups to the stars_

Blaine takes a minute to watch his boyfriend's modest dancing and he falls even further into the depths of love. He watches for another minute, then calls out to him.

"Pretty."

Kurt sucks in air and turns his head to look at his beautiful Blaine. His smile is bright, genuine, completed only as Blaine steps closer. "You're home."

"I am." Blaine comes behind Kurt and sweeps his fingertips across the small of his back before sliding his hands in his front pockets, accelerating himself up on his tippy-toes and hooking his chin to Kurt's shoulder. "Hi." He says, kissing his cheek and lingering for a few seconds too long.

"Get into any fights today, my beautiful, tiny delinquent?"

Blaine laughs. "Shut up. Are you about ready to go?"

"Mmmm, we have a half hour or so before we have to leave."

At Blaine's wiggling eyebrows and seductive, dark eyes, Kurt rolls his eyes and hops again on his good leg across the kitchen and into a chair facing the table, leaving two pans to soak. He propels his casted leg to rest, elevated on the perpendicular chair. "It's weird being here alone all day. I feel like I'm playing hooky from high school for months at a time."

"Mmmm, if only you were in high school right now! Kurt, we could actually go twice sometimes!" Blaine grins.

"Hello boys." Burt glares and drops the mail on the counter as he walks into the kitchen. Blaine blushes an entirely new color on a palette that doesn't exist, focusing on the pile of mail in the distance. Kurt grins at him and shakes his head.

"Awkward times at Ridgemont High, Blaine?" Burt is laughing. He definitely heard his line.

"Huh?" He gets up to avoid further humiliation over something he could never change and sifts through the mail. He pretends to separate it into isolated piles by name of recipient and shoves the letter from Columbia into his pocket, folding and crinkling the paper envelope. He delivers each pile of mail to Kurt and Burt and sits back down where he was.

"Oh my God, Dad. He doesn't get the reference, he was literally born in like 1994 or something." Kurt tries to defend his boyfriend, but it just turns into Burt laughing harder.

"1995, actually." Blaine's blush rises to the tip of his ears as he mumbles the correct information.

"Ew." Kurt jokes. _Kind of._

This enables Burt's laughter to vibrate through the kitchen, a rumble that can be heard on a different wavelength. "You keep stealing those cradles, Kurt. As your father, let it be known that I'm fucking proud of you." Burt slaps his son's shoulder and grabs a bottle of water. "Let me know when you guys are ready to go. I'll drive." He exits the same way he came in and turns on a March Madness game.

"1995? Really?" Kurt shudders. He was listening to Ace of Base and Mariah Carey, twirling around his room in 1995. In 1995, Kurt's mother was alive.

He stares out into space with a fond smile for just a second before snapping out of it. "Don't worry baby, I hardly get that reference. I don't think I was even born before that movie came out."

"What movie?"

Kurt laughs so hard his ribs hurt.

Blaine groans. Sometimes, he really wishes he were Kurt's age.

"Kurt, are you sure you're actually okay with my age? It's nothing I can change as much as I wish I could, but I don't want you to resent me later for it… I'm just giving you an out, I guess."

"Blaine."

Blaine stares at Kurt; a grimaced and worried look lies deep within his frown lines. "It just really sucks that you make fun of me for something I can't make better." The boy literally pouts, feeling as deflated as any popped and dead balloon in a hailstorm.

"Shut up. I love you, even if you were born in 1995. Shut up."

"Okay, whatever pretty boy. I gotta pee." Blaine gets up and kisses his forehead, disappearing upstairs to the bedroom, the envelope in his pocket weighing heavy on his heart.

Sitting on the corner of the mattress, he pulls out the piece of paper that could make or break his entire life. If he were being honest, he's not sure when the time came that he actually cared about getting in, but here he is, holding a lifeless, bent envelope with his heart beating out of his chest at a rapid pace. He holds the corners once it's unfolded and stares down at the return address from the Upper West Side. He runs his finger over the raised ink of the Columbia University seal on the back. He takes a deep breath and rips it open. Crumbling the envelope into a fist and throwing it across the room, he grasps the single piece of paper inside and holds it, still folded into threes.

He places it down on the desk and falls backwards onto the comforter. His hands cover his face and he hyperventilates for a few seconds. His will is strong now; he knows what he needs to do.

He rises again and unfolds the piece of paper, reading the first line of the letter.

_Dear Mr. Blaine Anderson, _

_Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to Columbia University in New York._

He drops the letter and watches it float to the ground like a feather on a cloud. He lets out one short, high-pitched shriek and jumps on the bed, slamming his knees to the mattress. He flails his arms and allows another sound out of his mouth.

"Um, Blaine? You okay?" Kurt's worrisome voice calls out to him from the bottom of the staircase.

"Oh. Uhhhh, spider in the bathroom…" Blaine lies through the grin. _ This is just the beginning._

"Get yourself together, we have to go in a few minutes."

"I'm ready in a second." He lies back down and hugs his pillow.

He barges downstairs and for the rest of the car ride to the doctor his grin doesn't disappear. When Kurt and Burt ask (multiple times), he excuses it as the fact that Kurt is finally getting better and this is just the beginning. _ This is just the beginning. God, let it be better than the past._

* * *

Blaine can't stop staring at the thin, naked chicken-leg attached to his boyfriend. "It literally looks like a really long toddler. Your leg is so long, Kurt."

"It's weird to bend."

"The doctor said it would be weird. And to use the crutches if you still feel you need them." Blaine still stares at the leg. It looks inhuman.

"I know, Blaine. I was there."

"Sorry. I just…"

"I know."

Kurt seems a bit off, like his thoughts are too distracting for it to be unobvious. He looks out the window with a glazed look on his eyes. It's like he's not really seeing, just looking. Blaine observes his overall demeanor and tugs on his hand to make sure Kurt realizes the reality of the support system he has, following him wherever he goes.

* * *

Pizza at Breadstix has become a tradition for every time they come from the doctor. Blaine likes to think it's because everyone loves pizza and it's delicious, but Blaine can't help but remember the contraption that has been one with his ankle over these past ten months and exactly how conscious of it Kurt and his family are.

Kurt without crutches is still substantially slow compared to Kurt at Thanksgiving. They are unhurried and careful in stepping up into the house and Blaine eventually disperses Kurt to his spot on the couch. Burt follows immediately behind with dinner, setting it directly on the coffee table in front of Kurt. The pizza box is opened, the television is turned on, the paper plates are found, and the Diet Coke is poured from the cans to the glasses. The boys snuggle, they eat; they watch. They love. It's all that matters right now and for always; they love. Burt lies terribly about catching up on emails again, but Kurt is grateful, in this moment, for a father who could take a hint.

After half an episode of Kardashians running around Los Angeles like they shit fully bloomed red roses, Blaine looks over at Kurt who's not really watching for the storyline, just staring at the screen.

Blaine sighs, chewing a particularly hard piece of crust. "Can I call out of work today?"

"Who's there now? What time is it?"

"Only Austin, I have to be there in an hour. Ugh, I have to go. I'm so happy though! I want to celebrate movement of your leg!"

Kurt frowns. "Me too."

Blaine feels bad to leave him alone so soon after his cast comes off. He wants to celebrate Kurt's leg getting better _and_ his admission into college with private times. "I want to hang out with you."

"Well, why don't I go with you?"

"_Kurt_. No, I mean… are you sure you're ready to be back there?"

Kurt kisses him hard, probably to shut him up. "To this day, you say my name like it's the fucking scripture, B." Kurt kisses him. "I love it when you say my name."

"Say my name, say my name…" Blaine sings the words sexily into Kurt's ear, licking at the outline and nibbling before falling back into his spot next to Kurt on the couch. He grazes his fingertips down the side of Kurt's body and looks at him expectedly.

"You actin' kinda shady, ain't callin' me baby?" Kurt says these words; it's a spoken question that forces the loud spitting laugh out of Blaine's throat. Kurt continues, "Okay, seriously. You know Destiny's Child but you have no idea what Sean Penn was doing in 1982?"

"I only know about Destiny's Child because of Beyoncé."

Kurt catches Blaine's hand as it goes up and down the side of his body and plays with his fingers, staring down at them to avoid Blaine's face. "Do you think we should move back to the apartment? I know it's ready; you and my dad are both terrible liars."

The apartment above the Lima Bean has been completely refurnished and finished for almost three weeks now after Christian Anderson defaced it the night before the attack on Kurt. Blaine and Burt continue to keep themselves busy by prolonging their time spent at the shop every Saturday in lieu of Kurt realizing it's finished. They both silently agree that he's not emotionally ready to return to work or the place he used to live, and they'll continue to put off moving back until absolutely necessary.

Blaine frequently feels the pit in his stomach for lying to Kurt over carburetors and transmission kits, but Burt reassures him that a lie is okay so long as it is to benefit Kurt's recovery process. Burt explains that although the road to emotional stability is complicated hills and valleys, Kurt will get there with the help of his family. Blaine included.

"I don't want to. There's no reason to." If he's being honest, Blaine really likes living with Kurt and Burt and Carole. It feels like a real family.

Kurt thinks about it for a minute. He tilts his head. "I want to, I think. Eventually. What I _really_ want to do is run away with you, escape this shit town and only be with you forever."

Blaine knows that the nightmares and panic attacks haven't stopped, but they've greatly decreased since Christian Anderson was stripped of his rights for the next ten years of his life, shipped off to a high security state prison in Lucasville, Ohio. Of course, he didn't murder anyone (only tried) so Christian Anderson could get out in as little as five years and six months with good behavior. When Kurt remembers this small detail, the suffering returns regardless of the warm milk by the gallon floating down his esophagus and Blaine's arms wrapped around his body.

Blaine always knows the right words to say. Yes, the seemingly abbreviated sentence Christian receives for nearly taking away the only person Blaine's ever truly loved is preposterous, disgusting, but he boastfully reminds Kurt that they won't be anywhere near Ohio by the time Christian comes searching, and he might not even go looking for them anyway. He always says that to maintain support, to try to keep Kurt's mind off of the fact that Christian will hate Blaine even more after having him put in jail.

"_Kurt_. Baby, he's not going to get you. We should stay here because I can't stand to witness your hurt for one more second, especially emotionally. We'll stay here until you aren't as affected too much anymore, and by that time we could-"

Kurt cuts him off. His emotions are flying high and there's no way to hide them. "No, I know that, I do. At least he's not gonna get us right now, but it wasn't just him that night."

And there it is. After weeks upon weeks and months of talking about it, Kurt is ready to open up and have a deeper conversation about it all now. For the first few months, he'd always agree with whatever Blaine was saying and they would hug, hold each other, and Blaine would whisper that everything is okay over and over again, and that'd be the extent of the conversation. This is the first time he's doing more than nodding and smiling his sad smile, hardly ever reserved for Blaine.

"They were all sold out by him, _Kurt_." Blaine emphasizes the T in _Kurt_. He has to, to make sure his aching boyfriend is really listening to what he has to say. "No one is going to hurt you anymore, okay? Not one person, not ever as long as I am next to you. And I kind of intend for that to be forever. So."

"How do you know that, though? You don't. No one does because I was the only one fucking there and I don't even remember how many of them had me pinned down that morning waiting for him to get there! Was it three? Or five? How many were there, B? They only caught three of them. There could be others. There could be so many more just watching our every move and we're so damned clueless about it all, Blaine. I can't really rest the way it was possible before until I know for sure that everyone who might have been there that night is caught. How many months would they be sentenced for being a compliant worker bee to your father's grand plan? It's not enough for me to not be scared anymore."

Blaine takes the saucy plate from Kurt and puts both plates down on the table in front of them. He turns solemnly to face Kurt and takes both of his hands, rubbing a corresponding thumb on each. As many times as they've had this conversation, Blaine never tires. He will never stop reassuring Kurt that everything is fine now. It's best for both boys' sanity. This time, though, it's a little different; he can finally offer a legitimate _something_ to look forward to. He just got word this afternoon from the only school that had a chance of his approval, the one he's wanted to attend forever.

"New York." Blaine can't hide the grin again. He bounces a little and looks at Kurt.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We can go to New York. For good. Kurt, I umm… I applied to college, and I got in. I got in, Kurt. I just found out today. Columbia… I just got the letter-"

"Oh my God, Blaine!" Kurt fires his body into Blaine's arms and slams his lips into contact. "Blaine! Jesus, I am so proud of you! How the fuck did I not even know you _wanted_ to go to college, let alone got into the best fucking one in New York! Fuck Christian Anderson, baby, fuck him! You showed him even though he pounded it into your head that you couldn't do it!"

Blaine's smile splits so wide across his face, it hurts. He pulls back to catch the glimpse of his dazzling beauty of a boyfriend. "You know how I am, I don't know. Let me introduce you to the Magnificent Blaine Anderson Escape Plan, population: me and pretty boy. Assuming I am allowed to leave this horse town by then, will you please do me the honor of being my roommate? Come with me? To New York? A live-in boyfriend, what's mine is yours? All of that? I want all of that with you."

Kurt allows his jaw to drop just slightly before pulling his lips up into the brightest smile Blaine's ever seen. Blaine swears that Kurt is currently composed of 35% sunshine.

"Really?"

"Yeah? I mean… if you want…"

Kurt squeals and claps his hands, bouncing in the cushion. "B, I have a confession to make."

"Oh, God. Kurt, if you don't want to come, it's fine. Really, we can make it work or I don't even have to-" Blaine's too distracted by the possibility of a "no" to notice Kurt's excited-beyond-belief body language.

"No! Blaine. Shut up. It's really, really good. It's… amazing! I am so proud of you, but you have to know this. Before the attack, literally the day before the attack, at Thanksgiving, you know? I had told my dad that I wanted to sell the Lima Bean."

"Why would you-"

"To take you… to _escape_ with you to New York."

Blaine blinks. "Kurt?"

Kurt grins.

"Don't fuck around."

"This is crazy. Are we crazy?" Kurt leans in to kiss him chastely on the lips.

"Kurt! Please. Answer my question."

"Of course I'll come with you. But it was _totally_ my idea first. And also, I'm second guessing having to sell the Lima Bean. Julie has been so helpful through this whole thing that I want to promote her."

Blaine breathes; it's a gasp of a new beginning. "Whatever you want, pretty boy." They crash their lips together and before he knows it, the small of Blaine's back has the armrest of the couch digging into it shamelessly, and Kurt is flushed to his shoulders, spread out on top of his boyfriend.

"Blaine?"

"What?"

"There was no spider, was there?"

Blaine laughs and shakes his head before capturing his boyfriend's tongue between his lips once again.

Kurt breaks the impromptu make out session ten minutes later. "Go to work, B. I'll be here when you get back. Call me if your boss doesn't show up." He winks and shoves his body away playfully.

So Blaine groans and obliges somewhat apprehensively, only under the condition that they get to talk more in detail about New York when he gets home.

Kurt spends his night emailing Blaine Craigslist advertisements of apartments they could have, and Blaine spends his night replying with only emoticons in between the scatter of caffeine-obsessed students searching for their next fix.

* * *

_Fuck_. He doesn't even understand what he did this time. One minute, he is simply sitting in class trying to keep up with the notes and the next, the teacher calls him out and announces to the class that he should stay after to discuss "the issue."

Blaine sits idly in detention, still not understanding what "the issue" was earlier, staring out into the school parking lot. April showers, indeed. The pavement is slick and glistening in the afterglow of the rainstorm passing through. There's a nip to the air, a spring breeze that still requires some sort of jacket or sweatshirt. He's scanning the parking lot, his eyes on the way to the football team. Sure, they're douches, but… tight pants, and Kurt's lived in sweatpants for many months. He might as well pass the time with ease. Blaine really misses Kurt's skinny jeans and he's allowed to look, right?

The Navigator pulls in and parks. Kurt hops down from the truck and has only the slightest limp to his waltz as he approaches the back door to the school. He lifts the arm with his keys and clicks the alarm twice. Blaine hears the _beepbeep_ but can't take his eyes off of Kurt, who's nearly running up the stairs to break away from the drenching rainwater that will surely ruin the soft Italian suede of his jacket if it starts up again. Only Kurt Hummel wears expensive suede imports during the rainiest month in history.

**_Blaine: I see you, pretty boy. What are you doing here? You're clear to drive?_**  
_Kurt: Doc gave me the okay! Meeting Rachel! She's randomly in town only today and just texted Santana and me like two hours ago. What are you still doing here?_  
**_Blaine: I plead the fifth._**

Kurt laughs. Blaine Anderson never ceases to amaze him. Of course he has detention; of course he references what one would say inside a courtroom on the regular. It's Blaine's ironic way of making fun of himself and the trouble he's found himself in.

_Kurt: What room are you in, lover? I need my boyfriend to meet my best friend._  
**_Blaine: 253E. Save me, pretty boy._**  
_Kurt: Don't I always? ;)_

Within a minute, Kurt peaks into the window of the closed door to detention and approaches the teacher in charge of detention today, Mrs. Hughes. They catch up awkwardly; have they ever held a conversation before today?

"Mr. Schue has an emergency meeting for the Glee Club and asked me to come get Blaine."

Blaine grins and stands up. Kurt smiles at Brad and they escape quickly before any questions are muttered.

"We are so good at escaping, we should refer to Lima as prison from now on." Kurt smiles at Blaine as they walk toward the choir room. He takes his hand.

Blaine pulls away. "Not here, pretty boy."

Kurt shoots a confused look to his boyfriend of several months. "I thought we were over the secrecy? I thought _I_ was the one who wanted it in the first place?"

"I just never told anyone at McKinley because they all kind of know you. Your class is like, legend. I don't know. Don't want special treatment… or anyone judging us. You know how this place is. Also, I hardly talk to anyone." Blaine shrugs.

"Fine." Kurt smiles again and shrugs with one shoulder. "Whatever, I still love ya."

Blaine giggles. "Me too." He allows Kurt to enter the choir room first, shamelessly checking out the swing of his hips as he follows. "Wait, you were serious about a Glee thing? I'm not even in Glee."

Kurt loses his footing and falls to the floor with one Rachel Berry tackled on top of him. "Kurt! Oh my God! I missed you, oh my God! How have you been!"

"Dude! What the fuck? Are you crazy?" Blaine yells at Rachel and tries to rip her off of Kurt. "You're gonna fucking hurt him!"

She is yanked off and flattens the non-existent wrinkles in her skirt and forcefully extends a hand to Blaine. "Rachel Berry, Emmy and Tony Award nominee, although I didn't win both times but Barbra took years to direct herself, so I have time to accomplish everything, as you know. And you must be…?"

"Blaine Anderson. Prisoner in my own world." He deadpans, blinking and apprehensively taking her hand. He lets her shake it with more enthusiasm than a pit bull. "You are as intense as Santana said."

Kurt snickers and takes his hand. "It's just us, babe." He assures.

"Oh. Oh! This is your much younger, super hot delinquent boyfriend Santana Lopez saved from the streets!"

Blaine blinks. _Did she just-? Did Santana tell Rach-? What?_

"I still don't know if I approve, just for the record." Her smile broadens and she hops up and down. This girl is on serious drugs or an overdose of poppy seeds or _something_.

"Um." Blaine's not sure if he should be offended or flattered that she's heard of him.

"Oh my God." Kurt blinks. "Please stop with this embarrassment, Rachel."

"He's a cutie pie!" Rachel singsongs as Santana struts into the room with a click of each heel and sits in the chair she used to sit in ten years ago. Kurt catches wind of her action and lets go of Blaine to sit in his old chair. Rachel follows suit, leaving Blaine staring at them from the edge of the piano.

Kurt looks at each of his best friends, one at a time. He finds his eyes locked on Blaine, taking him in for all he's worth.

Blaine notices and smiles, sitting down at the piano. His fingers glide across the ivory absentmindedly but still with the natural touch of a musician.

Kurt grins. "My boyfriend, Mozart."

"Do you play, Blaine?" Rachel preens.

Blaine looks at her, nodding apprehensively. She nods with encouragement and he finds the first chord for the first song that pops in his head. He stares at Kurt during the introduction, but skips the first verse.

_I would not leave you in times of trouble_  
_We could never have come this far_  
_I took the good times, I'll take the bad times_  
_I take you just the way you are_

"Awww, Kurt! He's singing for you!"

"Berry, seriously shut the fuck up." Santana finally speaks. "We are only here because you promised death on everyone we love if you didn't see us. What the hell do you want?"

Blaine's melody dies in his throat; he can't miss the drama and he knows that look on Santana's face.

"Oh my God, Santana. Get over it, okay? I kicked you out like seven years ago."

"Children! Rachel. Why are you here?"

"I needed to tell you both something so important! Wait for it!" Blaine watches the interaction, allowing his fingers to press down wherever they please. He stops at Santana's death glare, and they legitimately wait for it. They wait through Rachel's overly dramatic stupid pause, Santana actually glaring holes through her hair, the style of which she hasn't changed since she wore kittens on her sweaters.

"Rachel." Kurt shortly reminds her that they are still waiting.

"I'm Fanny Brice!"

"There's a Funny Girl revival? Wait are you Fanny or are you Barbra? Is this Broadway or off?" Blaine asks in wonder, genuinely interested and then quickly snapping out of it. "Oh, um. I mean, cool. Congrats."

Kurt and Santana both stare at him, shocked and impressed that he knows who Fanny Brice even is. Santana's face contorts into that of disgust and holds a finger up to Blaine, then turns to Rachel. "Broadway?"

"D'uh! I'm en route to New York City right now! I needed to stop here and tell my friends! Can we go to the Lima Bean? I need to make sure that me handing it over to you was not a mistake." She jumps up and down; her face lights up in a frenzy of positivity.

"It wasn't. I actually work there. He runs it perfectly." Blaine drawls, thoroughly unimpressed with this bitch he used to love when she was on television. But it is time to befriend all of Kurt's friends if they're in it for the long run so he channels his inner Spice Girl and stands, grinning at Rachel.

"Well, I'll be the judge of that." Rachel raises an eyebrow and rolls her eyes at him, not impressed with his foolish outburst of excitement.

He blinks. He's kind of in shock; he really thought Rachel would be a nice person, especially because she is Santana and Kurt's friend from high school. Maybe she's kidding. She's got to be kidding.

He can't stop looking around for the candid camera. He plops down next to Santana and mutters, mostly to himself. "Was Rachel Berry just a raging bitch to me for no reason? Is this real life?"

"Unfortunately." Santana tilts her head up to look at him and they burst at the seams with laughter.

They calm down quickly when Kurt gives them both a pointed look of warning.

"So, lover boy. I was going to call you today but figured I could just talk to you in person and get a free latte out of the deal. I was on my way to the Lima Bean when I got the _thrilling_ news that Rachel Berry was in town."

"Mmmm, what's up?" Blaine's watching Kurt talk strained, but animatedly, with Rachel. If Kurt can find something in her, she must be alright… even if she didn't bother to call once after Kurt's attack. Even if she's being seriously insensitive, demanding they go to the Lima Bean as if Kurt can just go there without consequence these days.

"I got an email this morning about the status of your anklet."

"-and oh my God, Kurt! Maybe I can get you a job as a stagehand or something! You _can_ still stand for a few hours, right? Maybe you can work in merchandise and you can sit when it's not intermission or something. I'm sure they'll make an exception if I recommend you! You know this whole thing wouldn't have happened if you weren't dating an eighteen-year-old."

Kurt's face drops at the words. Not only does she suggest that the only way into a Broadway theater for Kurt would be to sell tee shirts, but she also lets her sour opinion on his relationship fly free and shamelessly. He feels his cheeks turning red, but not out of embarrassment.

"You know, a lot of stuff wouldn't have happened if you didn't ditch me for _a corny teenage drama_, Rachel." He often wonders about the "what ifs," the path his life has taken due to other people's – _Rachel's_ – decisions.

"So I got to play the adorable girl next door for four seasons, gaining fame and money and _syndication_, and royalties for the rest of my life, and you're back in Lima _playing house_ with your own teenage drama. Jealous, much?"

"Why the fuck is she here?" Blaine scowls and looks back to Santana.

"Whoa. Hummel's bitch face is really rubbing off on you. Calm down, they bicker just like this every time. She just has something else to criticize when you were introduced. She knows it hurts Kurt so she says whatever she can. We can strike later when she's gone. I try to convince him every time just how horrible the shit she says is. He'll get it eventually."

Blaine laughs and shakes his head. "Fine... what about my exquisite taste in jewelry?"

"Ah, yes. There's a court date that you have to go to next Friday and if you answer the questions the way they want you to, which you will because I know the questions already and I'll basically just tell you what to say, then you might be able to lessen your time locked into that thing."

"Is this some sort of trick that I cut school to be there and then they tell me I can't get it off because I've cut school?"

"No, Blaine. Not everyone is out to get you, you know. Honestly, I think it had a lot to do with your father. Now they don't have him breathing down their necks to keep you accounted for so they don't have to keep you there. This also proves to me that he was behind the whole out-of-network thing a few months ago."

"I figured as much."

"I'll come with you if you want me to."

"That'd be great, San. But let's get together to cheat on the answers first?"

"Obviously."

"Thanks."

They stand up, Rachel and Kurt waiting on them by the door, Kurt a bit less bright than he was only twenty minutes ago.

"My, my, what a long way Badass Blaine has come. Even showing gratitude!" She throws one arm around his shoulders and leads him down the hall and into Kurt's car, following a scowling but still linked-at-the-elbows Rachel and Kurt the entire way.

* * *

Santana and Rachel get out of the car and head inside. Blaine looks at Kurt from the front passenger seat.

"We don't have to go in, you know."

"Mmmm." Kurt's eyes are glazed over, staring but unfocused at the building in front of him. _His building_ that he hasn't been in or even seen in months. Since the attack.

"Pretty boy…"

"I can do this, Blaine. I'm fine."

"Okay. But the minute you feel like you have to leave-"

"I'll be okay baby, just stay close to me. Come on." Kurt swings the door open and hops out, waiting for Blaine to rush around from the other side.

Blaine takes Kurt's hand gingerly and swings them as they walk toward the Lima Bean.

"So, Rachel is…"

"Stop. Do not continue. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars." Kurt kisses Blaine. "I don't want to be mad at you right now because it really sucks when I'm mad at two different people that I love, and as annoying and self-indulged and self-important and did I mention annoying and she didn't even call when I was hurt…" Kurt takes a breath and rolls his eyes. "As crazy as she is, we only need to deal with her for a little while longer until she forgets about Lima again." Kurt babbles. "She hasn't been back since Finn died and it's obvious that she's trying really hard to not think about him, and that makes me sad because me and Santana know exactly what she's doing, and in turn we can't help but think about Finn. We have to be done talking about this, okay? I love you but…" Kurt tilts his head and holds it. "Please, just drop it."

"She is… really ambitious? Sorry you're sad, baby. Anything I can do?" Blaine sighs and watches his eyes.

Kurt plants a kiss onto Blaine's lips and twirls out of his hold. "You're doing it, babe." Pulling the door open and waiting until Blaine gets the hint to walk in before him, he smiles and winks at a shocked-to-see-his-boss barista, Austin.

Rachel is in the middle of a very important task – over-analyzing every single piece of art and swipe of paint to every inch of the Lima Bean and making suggestions on how to better the place with every glance around.

"Want anything, Lopez? You okay?" Blaine makes his way behind the counter and slaps Austin on the shoulder to greet him.

"The usual, please." Blaine knows she's watching Kurt closely; the stress of both _Rachel and Finn_ and being at the Lima Bean for the first time in months is something Blaine knows that Santana knows he may not be able to handle. She nods at him sadly and sits at the Carrie Table; it's become a constant throughout the friendship Kurt, Santana, and Blaine share.

In an effort for Blaine to not literally bite his tongue off, he goes through the motions to make Santana's cinnamon latte just the way she likes it and hand delivers it. He feels safe to not watch Kurt's every move with Santana here. He trusts her. Returning back behind the counter to retrieve his own and one for Kurt, he also manages to bring over a simple coffee for Rachel. Kurt approaches when he sees the coffee on the table and joins Santana and Blaine.

Rachel, being the over-confident Midwestern, over-annoying (and that's underestimating by a long shot), super-conceited girl that she is, storms over, pointing with one finger, inches away from Kurt's face.

"Are you even profiting at all, Kurt? These two just _stole_ nearly ten dollars right out of your bank account! Do you let them do this to you every single day?" Although Rachel is speaking of both Blaine and Santana, she locks eyes with Blaine.

He pointedly slams his cup down, strolls behind the counter, and opens the cash register. He takes all the twenties out of the register, stuffs them haphazardly into his pocket, and comes back and sits down.

"Blaine. Please." Kurt warns.

"What? Miss Priss over here was only insinuating that your fucked up boyfriend is using you for the unlimited funds you obviously provide for me, why not prove that she's right? Because whenever I need a few bucks, I just open your fucking wallet, Kurt."

"Oh whatever, why else would an eighteen-year-old want _anything_ to do with him?" Rachel folds her arms and raises an eyebrow.

Blaine takes the money out of his pocket and places it all in front of his boyfriend. He turns his face to Rachel, who's staring at him with wide brown eyes, shocked at his actions. He opens his mouth to speak, but then makes a show of biting down on his tongue. He leans back on two legs of the chair and grabs Kurt's hand, intertwining their fingers and bringing both hands to his lips to kiss at the knuckles. He physically sticks his tongue out and bites down hard so he doesn't make Kurt upset. This translates well to Kurt without a word.

Kurt pulls away from him and explodes upward until he's standing in front of Rachel. "Okay, no. You will not talk to him or me like that, how dare you. You need to get laid, Rach. Maybe then you won't be such a lame goody-two-shoes with an ego the size of Texas for absolutely no reason. You're really not that great, Rachel Berry, and Barbra's been here already, so carry on. Maybe I'm at a disadvantage here because obviously you are capitalizing on Finn's death and he was my _brother_ Rachel, and I miss him every single day of my life, but you chained me down into a town I never wanted to come back to, because I was your only friend who didn't write you off. Your friendship makes me fucking cringe most of the time, because it's only when it's convenient for you. Do you know that I almost died? I got attacked for being in love with a boy and you didn't do so much as send a fucking text message to make sure I was okay. And then you show up here and completely judge the same boy that your best friend is head over heels for. For what? Because you can't have something like what we have anymore? Because you can't just… carry on with your life? I was willing to look past all of this, all of what you are, because you're clearly still mourning. You are focusing on everyone else and criticizing what I must be doing wrong for the business that should have been yours if you were strong enough to ever step foot in this place again. I'm sorry for your loss, Rachel. Finn wasn't my boyfriend, he was yours, I know it's a different relationship. But still, I lost someone, too. Shit happens, and he was important to me and Santana too, and I don't see her barging into anywhere looking for faults. I'm not suggesting you move on, because God, if I ever lost…" He shakes his head. "Just grow up, Rach. Grow the fuck up and leave your insecurities at the door and stop projecting them on me and my boyfriend and my most treasured friend. Your problems are not ours and I am so pissed off that you even brought me to my breaking point right now because you are not even worth how mad I am. You weren't worth it when we were in high school, and you sure as hell don't deserve anything you've gotten. Not with that judgmental, disgusting, me-me-me attitude."

Blaine, Santana, and Rachel are gaping at him; he has exploded, shaking from the confrontation. Kurt huffs and leaves out of the front door.

"Fuck you, Rachel." Santana screams and chases after Kurt, keeping her distance slightly so he can calm down before she has the chance to approach.

Blaine stares at Rachel in disbelief. "I'll go talk to them. But honestly, he was right. Don't come back here if you can't handle it. You're projecting your issues with Lima on people you associate with Finn. Him dying was not their fault. I genuinely don't know the full story at all, Kurt hardly talks about high school because he's clearly been through so much pain as you all have, but try to be there for them. They didn't go through it the same way you did, but they went through something very similar and I can see it weighing them down every once in awhile. They'll get a distant look in their eyes and I can just tell. But try to have some compassion for other people too, not just you and not just Kurt and Santana?" He drops the chair back to all fours, looks back at her, and shakes his head. He follows Santana's lead out the door after saying goodbye to Austin, who watches with baited breath.

Santana has already caught Kurt halfway to the corner and Blaine stops walking toward them when he sees Kurt's arms flailing out of control, angry and frustrated. Blaine watches, picking up his legs again slowly to join them. He hugs himself and slouches his shoulders inward and forward.

The rain won't let up and they look like wet dogs.

"Hey." Kurt almost whispers the simple word when he sees Blaine, blurry out of the corner of his misty eye. He feels terrible that Rachel was so degrading and reading Blaine all the wrong way, all because he vented to her before he thought to try the relationship despite their age.

Blaine steps forward. He is a magnet, constantly pulled in to Kurt, and there's no other explanation to it.

"I'm sorry about her, Blaine." Kurt looks to him then to Santana. He speaks to both of them. "I kind of confided in her back after our first kiss when I was still apprehensive and haven't really talked to her about it since. The way she was judging you was totally my fault."

Blaine finds Kurt's hand and squeezes.

"It doesn't matter. The only two people in our relationship are you and me." Blaine smiles at him, trying to make everything better. "I'm sorry you fought with her so hard and that she brought up old feelings about Finn."

"Whatever, she won't be back. She can't come here anymore, it just reminds her of everyone she's lost and she has an insane way of dealing with it. The fame has really gotten to her head and I don't like it."

"Yeah, well. I don't like her. What did you guys ever see in her? She's a hobbit who, yes, she can sing but her only training was probably listening to old fucking tapes of Barbra Streisand. Bitch even opens her mouth exactly the same way." Blaine chimes in. _Fuck you, Rachel Berry. _

Santana nods vigorously, pointing at Blaine and looking at Kurt, laughing. "What I've been saying for, like, twelve years."

"I think we've had enough excitement for one day and my leg is sore because I've been perfecting the storm off in true Rachel Berry style. So let's go home?" Kurt rubs his thumb against Blaine's knuckles and smiles at him with affection.

"Yeah. Call me tomorrow, San. Do you need a ride back to McKinley?" Blaine looks at her then to Kurt.

"I'm going to go find Rachel and get sucked into her wallowing sobs for only the five-hundredth time."

"Sorry." Kurt kicks his foot out, truly looking like an ashamed four-year-old.

"Don't be. It's the Berry/Lopez dynamic. See you guys. Don't let him get down and feel bad about The Devil Who Wears Kitten Sweaters." Santana nods toward Kurt and rolls her eyes.

"Come on, pretty boy. I'll make you feel better." He wraps his fingers around Kurt's thumb and pulls them back toward the coffee shop where Kurt had parked.

"Do you want to know what else it was?" Kurt's whisper almost goes unheard.

Blaine looks at him and tilts his head, stopping under a beautiful oak tree on the side of Main Street. "What else what was?"

"My childish outburst. This is the first time I'm back at the Bean. Since…"

"I know that. You doing okay?"

"It's weird. I sort of am."

* * *

They head back to Burt's, parting ways when Blaine needs to concentrate on yet another mind-numbing essay, to be written in Abraham Lincoln's point of view, explaining the basis of the Civil War. _Like, what?_ Blaine's pretty sure he wrote the exact same essay in second or third grade.

"Blaine?" Kurt appears at the door, leaning up against the frame and positively looking like a sex god.

"Huh?" Blaine is sitting at the desk, engrossed in a topic he could write about in his sleep.

"I'm sorry I blew up on Rachel in front of you."

Blaine looks up at Kurt. "Hey, it's okay. Want to talk about it?" He closes Kurt's laptop and turns so his lap is accessible for Kurt to sit on it.

Kurt takes the invitation and wraps his arms around Blaine's neck. "I miss Finn."

"Mmm, I know you do. Do you think we would have been friends?"

"Eventually. After you got used to him. He was a little weird." Kurt looks down and smiles. He gets up and rummages through his closet for a few seconds, feeling Blaine's eyes on his back the entire time. He pulls Finn's football jacket out and wraps it around his body before flopping down on the bed. "I miss him every single day."

"I know you do, baby."

"My mom would have adored you, too, you know."

Blaine joins him on the bed and gently pushes him over so Kurt can be the little spoon. One of Blaine's super powers: knowing exactly when Kurt needs to be held and listened to. "I don't know about all of that. I have a pretty terrible track record with parents."

"She would have loved you. The same way Carole does. Mmmmm, I miss her too."

Blaine holds Kurt tight. "I know you do. I don't know what else to say. You've had so much shit happen to you, I just want to snuggle you until you can't feel them anymore. Let me?" Blaine kisses the top of Kurt's head and squeezes a little harder.

"Let's just agree to save each other from the colossal shit we've both been through one shitty event at a time." Kurt's words are muffled, with his mouth buried in Blaine's arm.

After a few minutes of lying in bed together wordlessly, Kurt shifts and sighs. Blaine goes back to where he was and they collectively go back to work as much as they can. It's Blaine's brain that quickly wanders off to what they would have done if he was ever able to hang out with Finn Hudson or Elizabeth Hummel.

Five hundred words of complete shit later, including but not limited to the importance of Harriet Tubman or something, Blaine shuts the laptop and pushes it away from his body. He produces a notebook from his bag and flips to the first available blank page. He titles the page and stares at the blank page.

_New York Budget._

* * *

Kurt experiences some of his worst nightmares to date once he's finally able to fall asleep. He's just about to jump in front of a moving bullet coming from Christian Anderson's gun to save Blaine's life when he is shaken awake by a living, breathing version of his boyfriend, not being shot at in a Target parking lot.

"Okay, baby. I'm right here. Always right here." Blaine has Kurt in his arms once again, rocking him and wiping his tears with a single thumb. Blaine looks to Kurt, tilting his head in pity; an ember glow of honey eyes staring at him just waiting for him to break.

The emotional aspect of Kurt's recovery is nowhere near over, and as much as Kurt knows Blaine could curse his father up and down, and perform the blackest of magic until kingdom come in revenge for all of this additional stress and agony added to everyone's lives because of Christian fucking Anderson, Kurt's mind is overflowing with thoughts that chant, "nothing will improve until we are given the time to slowly work toward the finish line." Kurt doesn't have the fight in him to truly recover. Not yet.

Eventually Kurt sobs himself back into a thick sleep, and it's then that Blaine would do the same, if he wasn't plotting ways to get his carefree boyfriend back. He starts another list.

_New York Bucket List._


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Song used in this chapter: **  
**Avicii – Wake Me Up**

_May_

_Bro, it's Cooper. Look, call me back, okay? I really need to talk to you._

_Blaine, it's Cooper. I've been trying to get in touch with you for a few days. You have got to call me back, B._

_Hey, uhhh… Kurt, it's Coop. Listen, I've been trying to get in touch with my brother for a few days now, and uhhh, can you just have him call me as soon as you guys get this? It's really fucking important, man. I mean, I wouldn't bother you guys this much if it wasn't. Have him call me. Thanks._

_Blaine. Call me. It's Cooper. _

_Blaine! Call me. Blaine, please. It's important._

* * *

"Oh my God! Blaine, Blaine! Shit!" Kurt wails, rattling his hands for mercy, immobile and tightly attached to the headboard with the help of a pair of sharp, metal handcuffs. He pulls, chain crashing between the spindles again; he needs to touch Blaine right this instant. Besides, he's never fucked in his parents' house and it is awkwardly doing something to him.

"Fuck, _Kurt_. Jesus, you are so tight."

Blaine pounds into his boyfriend like the sun won't shine if he doesn't commit to the burn and take it for all it's worth; it's really a common courtesy for those forced to live forever in the dark. Every thrust finds a new angle, penetrating Kurt until he comes alive, free from all feeling, even the throbbing pain in his reddening wrists. The friction is just right; there's nothing good in life that doesn't hurt just a little bit. The world spins, crooked on its axis with every grasp to Kurt's upper thigh, pulling him in as close as possible. Kurt allows himself to be manhandled any way Blaine deems appropriate, every muscle in his body stretching to their max, and Blaine journeys through hardly touched territory, gaining wisdom and knowledge with each way inside. It's like coming home. It's always like coming home.

_All this time, I was finding myself_  
_And I didn't know I was lost_

"You're okay, pretty boy?"

"Harder, Blaine. My God, don't stop."

He takes Kurt, over and over again until they are teetering on the edge together but separate, dangerously swinging over the cliff into the familiar world of white. Kurt hysterically welcomes his orgasm first; the joints in his legs straightening with a lock at the knee, cuffs digging harshly into his wrists, stomach tightening with shaky breaths escaping one short spurt at a time. Blaine maintains his speed, well aware of the tip of his cock brushing against Kurt's prostate every single time. He is experimenting with the ride through the entire shuddering hurricane.

Kurt returns to the real world slowly but surely, his sensitivity making him wince with each of Blaine's continued movements. He patiently lingers until Blaine stills, filling Kurt to the brim, gloriously barebacked for not the last time in their lives together. He feels the pant of Blaine's breaths heavily on his own body, until they calm minutes later.

"Kurt?" Blaine pulls himself out and immediately coaxes Kurt's hole with his tongue, softly lapping and sucking, ensuring nothing's broken. _That would be a travesty._

Kurt still can't move; he writhes with both his legs extended again in the air for the best access. "Oh my God, Blaine." _Blaine's body, his mouth is a gift that keeps on giving._

Blaine kisses directly onto the opening then licks his lips. He repositions to lie halfway on top of his boyfriend. "Okay?"

"Mmmergghhhh..."

Blaine pushes up further onto Kurt's chest and kisses his mouth.

Kurt moans like he's not quite done but they both know he is.

If this is any indication to the rest of Blaine's life with Kurt Hummel, he'd have to say he's satisfied at the very least.

Blaine collapses down next to his down-for-anything boyfriend, breathing heavily into his ear. "Love you."

"Love you more if you let me use my hands."

"Oh! Jesus, Kurt." He giggles and unlocks the cuffs. They come off, rattling against the headboard, and Blaine takes both of Kurt's wrists in his hands, flipping them and rubbing them. No real damage, only some markings that will probably turn into bruises. It'll be okay in a few days.

They both fall asleep through butterfly kisses and strokes of fingertips to bare skin and chest hair.

* * *

"Holy shit, I am so sore." Kurt comes out of the bathroom, massaging his right temple with his hand, as though he has a headache. "Also, look." Kurt sits on the bed and holds out both of his hands, palms facing the heavens above.

Blaine is puttering around their bedroom, failing miserably at the simple task of finding his Pre-Calculus textbook. He is bent over his bag as he searches but looks up at the sound of Kurt's voice.

"Jesus, Kurt!" His eyes get wide. "Why didn't you tell me to stop? I could have stopped!" He grins. "Maybe."

"A constant reminder of how you had me." He smiles and wiggles his eyebrows.

Blaine frowns. "Are you okay? You should have said something if it was hurting you too much! I could have… done something. Did you even like it?" He springs himself to his feet and watches Kurt as he carefully sits on the bed, wincing slightly at the pressure. "And you're sore too. Jesus, I really fucked up." Blaine finds himself sitting on his lap and kissing Kurt innocently, arms wrapped around his neck. "I'm sorry. Never again."

"I'm fine, baby. Please again, I loved it. I want it again right now." Kurt takes his phone from the side table and starts to thumb through missed contacts, deeming nothing really out of the ordinary. "Cooper texted. Told me to tell you to call him."

"God. He's crazy."

Blaine's phone does a dance, buzzing its way all the way off the desk, burying itself in the jumble of wires on the floor. Blaine watches it absently, unfazed by his phone constantly blowing up lately. _It can't possibly be that important, whatever it is. _He'll call Cooper back later.

"Mmmm, want you." Kurt flutters his eyelashes and grins. "No, you'd be late. It's a shame because I'm already kind of still open from last night and _everything_. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am…"

Blaine gets up and lies on the floor, searching under the bed mostly as an effort to find his phone and textbook but also to avoid Kurt's bedroom eyes at all costs. Grabbing the things he needs, and jumping up with his messenger bag, he says, "I'm walking away from you now. But when I get home later, I am going to rock your world all over again and then maybe we'll accidently fall asleep with you still attached to your fucking headboard. Then you won't be able to get yourself out, even to pee. It's part of a whole set, you know. It came with this spandex cop outfit thing that I would just die to see you in." He's grinning; it's a joke, unless Kurt really wants it. "Or you know. Whatever."

Kurt blushes and laughs without sound. "Or maybe we switch it up because I am still throbbing from three hours of…" He shakes his head. "I love you, B. Don't beat anyone up today. Come home to me in one piece, will you?" He pushes back so he is lying on the bed with his face toward Blaine and snuggles up against his pillow. "Is this what it's going to be like in New York? You going out and providing for your gorgeous family and I get to spend all your money and I'll take all these sporadic naps until eleven? And then you come home every day before the kids get back from school and you, and I quote, 'rock my world'?"

"Precisely." He leans over and kisses Kurt again. "Later, pretty."

"I am not solely a bottom, Anderson! Thought I proved that to you when I bent you over the countertop at-" The descending giggle and the slam of the door signifies that Blaine Anderson has left the building. Kurt smiles to himself, then rolls over and falls asleep again.

* * *

Kurt chuckles when he wakes and the clock says it's eleven in the morning on the dot.

He opens his computer to log into his business banking account and run through next week's payroll records. He doesn't get that far though, because there is a strange folder saved to his desktop he's never seen before. After a few curious clicks, there is an essay up on the screen and he sees the word "Columbia" pop out on the screen.

_My current aspiration to obtain "it" is the fact that I have to provide for the people I love. While I'm at "it," I have to be the best at doing so. Columbia would only set the foundation for the rest of my life together with the person who never gave up on me, and saw me through until I was better. Now, because of him, I can be the best._

Kurt sucks in a breath and lets it jump out, staggered and rich. He prints out only that paragraph – his favorite paragraph in the history of all paragraphs – and cuts around the edges until it resembles a perfect rectangle. He forms a circle with some Scotch tape and posts the piece of paper directly to a spindle on their headboard. This passage of Blaine's written word will serve as a constant reminder to always be each other's "it."

He messages Blaine's phone after reading the passage exactly five times. He's fully aware that Blaine is in class, but it doesn't matter; he has to tell Blaine something very important. He is smiling like a seven-year-old on Christmas morning.

_Kurt: I fucking love you so much, seriously more than anyone or anything ever in my twenty-nine years. You are "it" for me, Blaine Anderson._  
**_Blaine: What the fuck are you talking about, old man?_**  
_Kurt: Found your essay to Columbia. I love you, I'm so proud to be with you. Come straight home, skip the Bean. Need to kiss your beautiful face until it's dust on my carpet._

Blaine's response to Kurt is interrupted by a new alert from Cooper for only the twenty-fifth time since checking his phone last.

_Cooper: Blaine. _  
**_Blaine: What the hell do you want? I'm at school and you keep trying to reach me, and that's not fair to my edumucation. Obviously, I'm busy._**  
_Cooper: Blaine. Call me. Now. Pop-pop died._

* * *

Blaine walks halfway home, in a numb trance, before he realizes he took Kurt's car to school today. He texts his explanation to let Kurt know he fucked up and turns around to get the car.

He gets home a half hour after the text message goes through to Kurt and goes straight up to their bedroom without looking for his boyfriend first, as he usually does. He opens the notebook that's been deemed the budgeting notebook and stares at the detailed lines of his own handwriting, broken down into several different scenarios. Two nights ago, he figured they'd both have to work in order to make rent in a walk-up on York Avenue, and since Blaine would have to concentrate some on school, he would have time to look into a part-time job. They'd have to share a small studio for at least the first few years, probably, and he estimated an apartment that would cost them about two grand a month after utilities. They'd still have to furnish it, move their stuff, and figure out how to close down the Lima part of their lives. Two nights ago, New York seemed like a lot of work to obtain, almost a pipe dream that they couldn't afford yet.

He lets a tear drop onto the paper and he slams the notebook down hard, slapping it against the desk. He belly flops onto the bed and groans, knowing full well that Kurt will find him in this state soon enough.

"Bad day?" Kurt comes in with two mugs of hot cocoa on a tray with several large (homemade!) marshmallows situated daintily on a doily.

Blaine sits up and looks at him. "The worst."

Kurt creases his eyebrows, concerned. His boyfriend is breaking.

"Oh honey, what happened?" He slides the tray onto the desk and waits.

"Nothing. I mean, God. I didn't really know him."

"Blaine?"

"Cooper called. He said my grandpa died."

Kurt sucks in his breath and launches himself at Blaine, wrapping his arms fiercely around his shoulders, bending his fingers to dig into the blades. He never heard anything about Blaine's grandpa, but a dead family member is a dead family member.

Blaine unlatches and allows the tears to flow freely and without care. They spend the night locked away in their bedroom, spooning each other, speaking to Cooper and arranging a quick trip to check in, hardly speaking to each other. They fall asleep early in the evening after two Harry Potter movies, tangled up in one another, never planning to let go.

* * *

Blaine wakes a full thirteen hours after falling asleep. He stretches his arms, intertwining his fingers of both hands, and yawns largely and with power. "Kurt?" Kurt is the first thought on Blaine's brain, always, and the last one each night before sinking into a deep sleep.

"Morning." Kurt enters the room from the bathroom, rubbing a towel against his hair with another towel lying low around his hips. "Cooper gets in at one, right? I'll leave here in like a half hour."

"Sorry I can't come with you."

Kurt lifts his arm and ruffles his boyfriend's hair before leaning into his body for a hug. "It's good that you go help my dad, keep your mind off of things?"

Blaine allows his head to sink down on Kurt's sharp shoulder. "Thanks for getting him."

"You're going to be okay, right?" Kurt squeezes him tighter, bears all of Blaine's weight to be supported by his chest.

Blaine pulls back, shrugs, and heads toward the bathroom. He really needs to relieve himself and brush the disgusting morning breath out of his mouth. "It's fine, pretty boy. Stop worrying about me. I'm good. We… just, I hadn't seen him in a while."

Kurt watches him disappear into the bathroom and sighs. He gets ready to retrieve Cooper from the airport in Columbus. As discussed, he's expected in soon from Los Angeles, insisting he needs to visit with Blaine to make sure he's okay.

Of course, the door is always open for Blaine's brother without question. Kurt and Cooper are the same age and although they didn't go to high school together, they know each other thanks to the show choir circuit. Over Christmas, Kurt recalls Cooper's confession that Dalton was trying to recruit Kurt to transfer for the sake of their hopes for a champion Glee Club, and they really needed a countertenor to balance out the six-piece harmony. Kurt remembers being McKinley High's secret weapon for competition season, aside from the obvious viewer's choice – Rachel Berry.

His mind wanders to the words he exchanged with Rachel a few days ago. He's happy for her; she seems to always get everything she ever wishes for, but at what cost? Kurt makes a mental note to call her soon and apologize. For what, he's not sure yet. It's just how their dynamic works.

Kurt's mind goes from Rachel's unpromising friendship to that scenario of "what if I transferred to Dalton when I almost did?" He frequently wonders what the rest of his life would have been like if he had transferred to Dalton, become friends with Cooper Anderson, dropped Rachel Berry, and met Blaine when he was still a little boy as a result. Just the thought makes Kurt shiver.

It doesn't matter, not really. He knows Blaine now and that's the end of it, right? He dresses and heads downstairs to make some coffee. He rummages through the fridge and decides on French toast, coated in syrup, to cheer Blaine. It's Saturday morning and Burt's already gone to the shop leaving a note behind for Blaine to come in whenever (they're slow today) and Carole's on a double, working almost the entirety of the weekend. They're left alone to play house like they used to before home was defaced and ruined and cursed for the rest of their time.

Blaine comes downstairs shortly after and pours himself a mug of coffee, mixing it to perfection as usual. He turns to Kurt, watching him through the routine of buttering the pan and dipping the bread into the egg-milk-cinnamon mixture.

"You're so pretty." He takes a sip of his coffee and sidesteps closer to Kurt, leaning with his back to the sink, situated conveniently next to the stove. He places his mug on the counter and takes both of Kurt's cheeks with each hand and presses a sloppy kiss directly lined up on older lips. "Will you be able to handle four hours in the car today with your leg? I can call Santana to go get him if you'd rather stay home and rest. Or he can just rent a car?" These are the things he thinks about in the shower.

Kurt looks over to him and smiles mischievously. He searches for the much deeper voice he's been practicing to mock Blaine. "It's fine, pretty boy. Stop worrying about me."

Blaine's jaw drops. "Oh my God." He laughs, eyes crinkling so tight and his mouth swinging open, throat producing the happiest of sounds. He looks at Kurt and can't help but laugh again.

Kurt raises an eyebrow, unable to hide his smile. "Would you get plates, please?" He flips the thick slices of French toast and stares a hole through the sizzle.

Blaine does what he's told. "You know what I love about you?" He extends onto his tippy-toes and fetches two plates, grabs two glasses, and crosses the kitchen to the fridge for the orange juice.

"Oh! My favorite conversation: Things Blaine loves about Kurt."

Blaine tilts his head, exuberated with love for the man always teasing, always happy to stand with him. "You always, without fail, affect me. I can't not react, and it always feels like, almost like too much. Like I could never possibly love someone else the way I love you."

Kurt gives him a look, consciously turning his face upside down and into a pout. "Well, that's the plan isn't it?"

Blaine laughs. "Shut up! It is. Listen, I mean okay..." He rolls his eyes. "It's sort of been like no time at all, if you really step back and think about it. But the way you look at me affects how I feel. I'm still getting these butterflies in my stomach; you still make me blush like forty times a day. Like every time we say even one word to each other, I fall deeper. It feels more intense than maybe what I'm supposed to feel in high school and it kinda freaks me out. You are… the love of my life, Kurt, and I think you had all that bad luck in your past relationships because none of them were as right as we are. And if we are ever thinking of breaking up in the future, I think we should remember this conversation. Because no one after you will ever affect me the same way you do. And I hope I, you."

"Oh, barf. Your romance is straight out of _The Notebook_."

Blaine's face falls. "I'm being seriously romantic and you're puking all over me."

"I'm teasing you, baby. I've been waiting for you all my life, you know that. And you're so lucky to have found this early. I assume I make your awkward teenage years better for you, yeah?" He bumps Blaine's hip so he moves out of the way and Kurt quickly rinses his hands. When his hands are de-eggified, it's not clear who leans in first, but they kiss passionately and forcefully nonetheless. They kiss, nearly spilling the orange juice and almost setting Kurt's sleeve on fire from the gas flames extracting from the stovetop.

"Umm, so to conclude with the lesson of the day, never make out over a gas stove."

Blaine rolls his eyes and ignores Kurt's wise advice. "Never leave me, pretty boy?" He holds up his pinky and Kurt takes it with his own.

"Never, ever." He kisses their pinkies and goes to plate their breakfast.

* * *

The drive is a boring one with no Blaine to keep him distracted from his thoughts. He decides to take the back roads down to Columbus, furtively driving through Westerville on the way to see if it has the same dark feeling Blaine seems to carry around with him just for the mention of his hometown. When it doesn't, Kurt's a bit disappointed but continues on to the airport, trying to think up an excuse to have driven through Westerville in the first place. He takes his time driving into Columbus, knowing he's rather early. He finds the cell phone lot directly outside of the airport and he waits. He waits and he looks around for something exciting to happen outside his window, then he waits some more when nothing does.

_Kurt: Hey, I'm in the cell phone lot when you land. Let me know and I'll circle around. Looking forward to seeing you!_

He reclines his seat halfway and closes his eyes. He can't help but think of New York, and Blaine, and what if he knew Blaine before he went to New York the first time? This is the second time he's thinking of an alternate scenario when it comes to Blaine today, and that in itself worries him. He would _not_ have fallen in love with a seven-year-old. His entire life would have been different, and he probably wouldn't have allowed himself to fall in love with Cooper's baby brother had he known him since he was little. He shudders again at the thought. Blaine's right though, he can't control how old he is. Kurt's happy he's found Blaine at all.

He's happy that he can have the best of both worlds – Blaine as his boyfriend and Cooper as a newly found close friend. Kurt doesn't have a lot of people to call his friend, and he's happy to have both Andersons on that list.

_Kurt: Hey babe. I'm waiting for Coop's flight to land in the cellphone lot. Miss you so much, it's pathetic._

For the first time in Kurt's life, he's grateful for sticking it out with the bullies of McKinley High. He stares out into the parking lot and taps his cell phone to his mouth repetitively while he thinks about it all, and how much it scares him to think that there was ever a possibility to live life without Blaine Anderson. They are both so lucky to have found each other.

**Cooper: Hey bro. Just landed, no checked bags. I'll be outside of Terminal C in like five minutes… thanks.**

Kurt throws the seat into an appropriate position, flicks the car back on, and pulls out into traffic. He follows the confusing airport signs to the JetBlue terminal all the way on the other side of the airport.

The reason for Cooper's visit is to apparently give Blaine something and make sure he's okay. But Kurt knows that Cooper knows that as long as Kurt's around, Blaine will be okay. So really, the only reason he's in town now is for the good of the something to be given.

Kurt's concerned that it's something to open the dam of feelings about Blaine's family, but whatever it is, Cooper is adamant to give it to him in person.

He spots Cooper from a mile away; he sticks out like a sore thumb. Kurt firmly believes that neither Anderson boy ever belonged in Ohio to begin with, but God, they wound up here anyway.

Kurt throws the shift stick into "park," hops out of the car, and flings the trunk open for Cooper's carry-on. Blaine's brother throws his luggage into the car carelessly and pulls Kurt into a tight, brotherly hug.

"Hey man! Thanks for coming to get me. Blainers says I'm supposed to ask you if you're sure that your leg is fine and if you want me to drive us home."

Kurt laughs. "Tell _Blainers_ that 'I'm fine, pretty boy, and stop worrying.'" They climb into the car and Kurt starts to drive again when Cooper situates himself.

"Like, I should text exactly those words?"

Kurt laughs. "Yes."

"I don't even want to know."

"He's just always fucking worrying about me! It's usually endearing, but I'm fine."

The ride goes smoothly; it's early afternoon cruising west on Route 33, and there's hardly any traffic for a Saturday. They engage in small talk, the conversation slowly getting heavier right around the time they pass the Westerville exit, of course.

There's an awkward silence; Kurt's tapping his thumb to the steering wheel to the tune of the new Fitz and the Tandrums song on the radio.

"You sure Blaine's okay?"

Kurt looks at Cooper, concerned and unsure what to really say. "I think so. There are times where he looks distracted behind his eyes, like he's thinking really loudly and I still can't hear it, but I think that's normal for eighteen, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I forget what I had for breakfast, let alone what I felt like on a daily basis eleven years ago."

Kurt laughs. "I've had to be in touch with teenage feelings for almost a year now."

"Your choice, bro."

"Yeah, yeah. Seriously, though Coop… I never had a choice with him."

"Is that some romantic pun concerning my baby bro?"

"Even if I had a choice, I'd still choose him. He's it for me." Kurt shrugs. "Sorry, this whole thing must be really weird for you."

"Maybe sometimes, when I _really_ think about it." Cooper looks at him and shudders over-dramatically, laughing harder when Kurt shudders back. "But I have _never_ heard the happiness in his voice the way I do now. And I bet it's even weirder to him that his boyfriend and his much older, better looking brother graduated high school the same exact year." There's an awkward pause. Cooper takes the opportunity to continue. "Our parents are really shitty, Kurt. You know that as much as we do. For him to have some positive relationship in his life… it doesn't matter if you're eighty. As long as he loves you, is the way I see it." He shrugs.

Kurt blinks rapidly to hold back the tears. He's known that Blaine's gone through some of the toughest shit any kid has ever had to go through since the day Blaine came stumbling sloppily into the Lima Bean, bruised and broken and alone. He was a small and desperately weak little boy without any glimmer of hope. He didn't belong anywhere, and Kurt knew that, even then. As each incident came and went, and finally after the grand attack to end them all, Kurt's brain finally clicked into place – this is not a situation to be taken lightly, and Blaine has been left deeply scarred by everything that has occurred. Kurt now fully understands the level of just how shitty Blaine's had it, and how he'll never really be one-hundred percent fixed from it. Blaine's damaged goods, and that makes Kurt fall even deeper. Kurt thrives on being willing and able to _help_.

"What do you need to give him?" Kurt's nervous that it'll be something that Blaine won't be able to recover from.

Cooper stares out the windshield. "A check. Inheritance."

Kurt sighs. He figured it was something like this. "I think he's really upset that he missed the funeral. He won't admit it, but… not that he missed it, because I'll bet he wouldn't have went anyway. But the fact that he couldn't have the choice to show up or not because of his probation."

"I can tell he's upset about that. For the record, it was a shit show. My mother…"

"I kind of figured it would be. I mean, no offense. I just…"

They are quiet the rest of the ride toward Lima. Instead of heading to the house, though, Kurt pulls into the tire shop. "I think everybody's here."

"Kurt?" Cooper questions his name before saying anything of importance, just like Blaine does.

"Yeah, Coop." He turns to face Blaine's brother and rests his hands on the middle console.

"I'm really sorry for what my father did to you, did to Blaine."

"Hey! It's not your fault. It happened, I'm better. Your brother is stronger from it. And honestly? I think it only happened to get him away from Blaine. It had to happen to ensure his safety, right? I'd happily go through all of that again to keep that man away from him. Can't break his son's ribs from jail, right?"

"Right." Cooper nods and smiles. He's counting down the days until the wedding. "You're right."

Ever since the attack, Cooper has been checking up on Kurt by calling and texting during the day, but never when Blaine could possibly be around. They've developed this weird friendship that's only taken a new level because of a crushed tibia. They both recognize that they probably would have been friends with or without Blaine around. Kurt's comfortable with Cooper, he can tell him a lot of things and feel like he's not going to repeat it dishonestly. Cooper's officially been added to the short list of Kurt's friends, and it feels good to look to him as family, too. Cooper has been his confidant on all things Blaine since Christmas. With all the stealth in the world, Coop palmed his business card (complete with full-color headshot bleeding through the back side) and they've been texting ever since. It's nice to have someone else to be himself around, even if they've only officially met twice.

"Please don't feel guilty about any of it, Coop. It happened for a reason and I'm confident that reason was so he didn't eventually kill Blaine. I'm just happy I could save him like that."

Jumping out of the car and crossing the parking lot to enter the garage, Kurt sees Blaine right away, leaned over into the hood of a Honda Civic. He dings the bell twice at the front counter so Blaine looks up. Immediately doing so, Blaine's face lights up and he wipes his hands on his jeans to rid them of grease and motor oil. Kurt makes his way over and kisses him quickly, wiping off the oil from his nose, then wiping his finger on Blaine's jeans. Cooper is on his heels and halting when the kiss gets heated.

"Stop making out in my shop. Hey, son." Burt slaps Cooper's shoulder and continues onto the mishaps of the Ford pickup in the corner.

"We weren't, Dad! Ugh." Kurt rolls his eyes. He mumbles, "Making out requires _tongues_. You'd think a grown man would know how to fucking kiss."

Blaine steps back and smiles, looking at his shoes. "I'm almost done here. Then we can go?" He magnetically allows his fingertips to graze at Kurt's forearm that's been self-consciously crossed over his chest. "Hey Coop."

"We'll wait over here." Cooper smiles at his little brother and shoves at his shoulder, setting him back just a hair.

Kurt and Cooper wait for Blaine in Burt's office, Kurt twirling in circles on the chair and reminiscing with Cooper about high school.

Every so often, Blaine can hear Cooper cackling or the melodic sound of Kurt's giggle. He rushes through the rest of the Civic's service and slams the hood down. He pulls the car out into the parking lot and shifts it into a spot to wait for its owner. He runs back into the office to the duo of new buddies.

"So I've decided…"

Cooper and Kurt look up to Blaine, who's now standing before them, crossed arms and frowning face.

Blaine continues. "I don't think you guys are allowed to be friends. It's disturbing and really fucking weird."

"It's weird that you prefer old guys, baby bro." Cooper shoots back. "Told you he was freaked out about it, Kurt."

Kurt laughs and shakes his head. "I'm not old…"

"Excuse you. I don't prefer old guys. Just this one."

"Uh! I am not even thirty."

"Yeah, and _I'm_ not even twenty. Pretty boy." Blaine grins and winks at his boyfriend, offering his hand to pull him up out of the chair.

"Oh my God. Can we go? Bye Dad!"

"See you guys!"

They exit the garage and make their way across the parking lot to Kurt's car. Cooper yanks his brother away from Kurt and throws an arm around his shoulders.

"When do you leave?" Blaine looks up at him. It figures that he got all the height genes and Blaine was left with next to nothing.

"Uh, Tuesday morning."

Blaine nods and jumps up into the car. The old men follow suit and they go home, making small talk and listening to Blaine complain about the crazy lady with the Civic all the way back. The bitch actually screamed at Blaine because… who cares? Blaine hates Ohio. Cooper and Kurt agree.

Kurt opens the front door and lets them in. He smiles at them and makes himself scarce, disappearing for the sake of the inevitable talk about grandfathers and family members and trying not to get upset over it all. He climbs the stairs and presses "play" on his laptop, running through some paperwork for the coffee shop that he's been trying to catch up on for days.

Meanwhile, Cooper catches Blaine's eye. "Okay, look bro. I'm just going to get this over with because it's why I'm here."

Blaine sighs and looks away from him, still in the foyer. He starts moving to the kitchen. "Are you hungry or anything?"

"Blaine, listen to me. Grandpa left you money."

"I don't care, Coop. I figured he would and then I remembered I'm gay and… I just don't really care. How much did you get for being straight?"

"I'm openly ignoring your self-deprecation. You know he didn't care about your orientation. He even told me he wanted you to come move to LA once he found out about Dad."

Blaine scoffs. "I would have known if he ever fucking told me that. He could have called, you know. And for the record, I would have never went to live with him, Cooper."

"I told him that you wouldn't have wanted to leave Kurt." This is Cooper's way of making sure it was clear that his grandpa knew about his boyfriend and didn't care that he had one.

"B, he gave you the condo in New York. I'm only here to make sure you're okay after… well, after everything and to help you go through the motions of getting everything that was left to you. This is a good thing."

Blaine is wide-eyed and staring at his brother. He can't believe any of the words spilling out of Cooper's mouth. "Um… okay? The condo? Where is the condo?"

"Upper West Side, and I have the number for a local lawyer that will come to you to deliver the inheritance check. It's a big amount so I really want to take care of this now. Do you even have a checking account? And I want Kurt to help you with investing most of it. Honestly, if you find a good high-interest account, you could live off of only interest for a long time, B."

Cooper digs a ripped piece of paper out of his pocket. The amount is easier to read than to be heard. Blaine takes it and looks at it. 7.5 million dollars. "Kurt? I need you." He rushes to the bottom of the stairs and hollers upward. "Kurt, now!"

"What's wrong, B?" Kurt lingers at the doorway to their bedroom and looks down the stairs. He notices Blaine's wretched, nervous face and shifty eyes, his dancing feet and his hand carding through his hair with nerves. "Honey? What happened?" He makes it to the bottom of the stairs and places his hand at Blaine's hipbone.

Cooper finds his way behind Blaine and sighs, leaning up against the wall with folded arms, glancing at them from the side of his eye. Kurt looks at him then back to Blaine, who's shoving the haggard piece of paper into his hands.

He looks down at it, revealing only the number. "7.5MM." Kurt stares for a few seconds until it clicks. It's this moment he thinks he may need to physically re-lodge his eyeballs back to their sockets.

"Oh my actual…"

"Kurt, do you remember how in my essay I wrote that I wanted to provide for the people I love and that you saved me because you never gave up, and all of that?"

"You are still going to college, Blaine. I don't care how many millions you have." _Oh my God, I've become my father. _

Blaine allows himself to crack up without caring. "Pretty, shut up! I know, of course I know that. Just listen, okay? I can provide for you, for real. We can get out of here and we can just… we can actually do this for real, Kurt."

"We were already doing it for real."

"Can you just… be here when I call this lawyer dude? Cooper says that you need to help me invest it or something, so we can live off of the interest or whatever. I don't really know what that means, but it's good right?"

"Blainers, you're forgetting the best part." Cooper makes his presence known to Blaine, speaking up to remind him to tell Kurt about the added bonus.

"What? Oh! I um, found us a place to live in New York."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's on 70th Street and Broadway. Doorman building, two story condo with three bedrooms and a gym, laundry in the apartment, and two offices or play rooms or family rooms, whatever you guys want to make them into." Cooper chimes in and takes two sets of keys out of his pocket, slipping them into Blaine's hand. He instinctively makes a fist around them and looks helplessly to Kurt.

"Say something, Kurt."

"Your grandfather left you his New York apartment and 7.5 million dollars." Kurt blinks and sits on the third-to-bottom stair, unfolding his bad leg out of habit and spreading his legs wide, in more of a stretch for his hips.

"There's more." Cooper hands Blaine another folded-up piece of loose-leaf paper. It's crinkled and worn at each fold, like several people have read it and made it small again and again, over and over. Blaine looks down to Kurt and then unfolds the piece of paper, sitting between Kurt's legs as he reads. Kurt takes the opportunity to rub at Blaine's shoulders, relaxing him and making it clear that he's there.

_Blaine,_

_I haven't told a soul I have cancer. I just got home from my appointment with the oncologist a few minutes ago, where the doctor just informed me that I have roughly a month left of my life. I'm having the lawyer update my will in the morning so that I can make sure you are taken care of. I know things have been strained between us, my boy, and for that I'm deeply sorry to leave you before we had time to reconcile. Before I go, I want to make it right the only way I know how. Our distant relationship has never had anything to do with your sexual orientation. I am proud of you. You are a good boy. Cooper tells me there is someone very special in your life. I would have loved to meet him, but it was not in my stars this lifetime. I'm leaving you the apartment in New York and some spending money. I know you were recently accepted into Columbia. Make a life there with your boy, Blaine. You do with it all how you please, and if that means spending the whole thing on the man you love, then go crazy, my boy. Please, I ask you to consider putting some away and use some to fund your college bill. Put two hundred thousand in a trust fund for a baby you don't have yet. By the time they are ready for it, it will be more than enough. And boy, you stay happy, and you dream big and so many great things will come to you. It sounds like some of them already have. I didn't say it enough, and it's my biggest regret, Blaine. I love you. You are the strongest, most grown-up, mature boy I know and you have to keep on keeping on. Your father is going to Hell for what he did to you; always remember that. Don't be sad I'm gone, you hardly knew me. But I knew you enough, and I love you to the moon and back, my sweet boy. Be wise with it all. Make a life for yourself in New York, as I did. I love you._

_Always,_

_Pop-pop_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Author's Note: _Surprise! Hey guys. I'm posting this chapter today instead of tomorrow so I can post 24 and the epilogue tomorrow. Wanted to take a quick moment and reiterate to each and every one of you how much I appreciate all of your kind words and reviews. You're really what's making this so whole thing enjoyable, and I love seeing all of your reactions so much! There is a sequel on its way, I promise... but it's not on TATIA's coat tails at all. I'm just finishing the first draft and then the editing process is a little crazy for me. I'm hoping to start posting before I turn 27 (June 22nd!) but no promises. More details about that on my Tumblr! Follow me over there for all the crazy updates and how much the sequel is killing me, among other delicious Klaine-related things. I love you all! xo- Nikkie

* * *

_How terrible it is to love something that death can touch. _

The days blend closer together and Blaine has yet to determine the reasoning behind his sincere mourning. He hardly knew his grandfather, last seeing him when he was fifteen and even that visit was short and awkward. They didn't speak, proving that they'd both be fine without the other. And yet, Blaine is depressed and genuinely at a loss whenever he really thinks about the fact that his grandfather simply does not exist anymore.

He carries the letter with him everywhere now. It's a constant reminder that someone in his family approves (or once did) of his lifestyle and approves of Kurt. Blaine realizes that this letter is the only proof in his life that can represent unconditional love. It's not much, a measly piece of college-ruled loose leaf with the holes torn out of a binder, but it's _something_. It's all he needs to know that at least his grandfather wasn't a homophobic asshole, as his father is.

It's also a reminder that in a blink of an eye, anything can happen to anyone in Blaine's life. Every time his hand grazes the worn piece of paper in his pocket, it serves as a sincere indication that Kurt or Cooper or Burt or Carole or Santana or Julie or Austin could just… die with no explanation and then they won't be here anymore. He thinks of Finn and Mrs. Hummel and how they were both someone to Kurt once, and now they're gone. Blaine undergoes a revelation when he decides to carry the letter everywhere. It is to live as fully as possible, no cutbacks, because one day you could disappear, never to be seen alive again.

He's never been more ready to run away with his Kurt and spend their lives together. They need to start living, and this is really just the beginning.

* * *

Blaine's breath catches in his throat. He's thinking about losing Kurt again, and it's absolutely fucking terrifying. His life almost seems like it's too good to be true, at least in the realm of _Kurt_, and that's precisely why he is concerned that something else terrible is going to happen soon.

He lies back on the mattress, folding his arms up and under the back of his head, staring at the stucco ceiling. He ponders how he's gotten here, lying in Kurt's bed, waiting for him to get ready so they can go to a court hearing and try to convince whoever necessary that he's done nothing wrong in so long and he deserves to be free. He's lying here, emotionally and physically involved with a serious boyfriend of nearly a year, eleven years his senior, and in deeper than he would have ever imagined.

A year ago, Blaine hardly loved himself. He was a lost soul who didn't care enough to give even one fuck. Between then and now, Blaine's noticed that he is officially a changed man. And it's all because of his knight in shining armor, the only one person who could ever truly show Blaine that he is worth so much more than manila folders full of bad shit he's done and heavy ankle monitors and probation officers.

If all goes according to plan today, Kurt and Blaine will leave Lima together in twenty days. Blaine's anxious; he'll start at Columbia in one month to the day, but he could potentially be bringing Kurt straight into the path of a sexy New Yorker his own age who's already established and knows what he's doing with his life.

Just in case all systems are a go, and even if they're not, Blaine has kept busy by choosing and working with a financial advisor located in the city close to the condo. He has split up his money in a livable series of high-interest accounts, and is set to start his monthly deposits of interest straight into his checking account. With no mortgage and virtually no expenses except the day-to-day, Blaine can easily support both Kurt and himself on the monthly interest payments. It's a huge pressure off of his shoulders; he was nervous about having to find a job. He just wants to concentrate on school and Kurt. It's funny how things are working out; how everything is being lined up as though it was meant to be all along. Except one tiny detail.

The enrollment process into classes at Columbia is going smoothly. He needs to email his advisor with class choices and he's all paid up with registration costs. It's official according to everyone except Blaine, anxious that this is the one detail to stop his plans of New York and Columbia and Kurt and _being happy _in a place that _accepts_ him. It's either he stays here with a GPS attached to him for the next year of his sentence, or he goes to New York and never looks back, with his beautiful boyfriend and his easy life. He already knows what he wants to do; it's what he'll be _allowed_ to do that is really the question.

In setting up their New York life, the high-interest-bearing accounts, shopping for college and the apartment furnishings, and phone calls with his financial advisor, there is no time to get nervous or anxious for the hearing with the judge. Blaine has been invested in all of this "adult play," as Kurt teases, and now that he finally has time to think about how important of a stance this one meeting has on the rest of his immediate life, he is shaking with nerves and startles when there's a ding and a vibration to his phone. He bends to check the message he's received.

Santana: Big day today. You ready? Can I drive you?  
**_Blaine: Kurt's getting ready now. We'll see you over there?_**  
Santana: Yep. I know you're nervous but you don't have to be. You'll do fine.  
**_Blaine: Thanks, Striptease. J_**

"Kurt? I think we should go soon, if you still want to come?"

"I'm ready when you are, babe."

Gasping a sigh of relief, Blaine is bewildered by how much support is handed to him on a silver platter lately, and from virtually everyone around him. "Okay, good." Blaine takes the suit jacket that's draped over the chair and shrugs it on. His fingers are unsteady as he attempts to button each. He looks down and notices they are crooked. _Whatever, no one will notice. _

Kurt enters the room and catcalls, whistling like he doesn't care who hears it.

"From now on, you're only allowed to wear suits." Kurt's eyes rake him over as he helps Blaine straighten his bowtie, smooth out his lapels, correct the buttoning fiasco. He steps backward to take in the full sight.

"Hottie with a body."

Blaine smiles. "Stop. You're sure this is okay? I mean, for _court_."

"It's perfect, you're perfect." Kurt pulls at the sleeves so they don't wrinkle. "Are you nervous?"

"So nervous."

"Don't be. You've been so good."

"Love you, pretty."

"I know you do. Love you too. Santana's meeting us?"

Blaine doesn't make a move to leave. Instead, he steps backward until his calves hit the mattress, forcing him to bend and sit. "Yeah. This is weird."

Kurt sits down on the edge of their bed next to him and connects his hand to Blaine's knee. "I'd assume that's a natural feeling for people in your position."

"He'd do anything he could to keep me locked up, you know."

Kurt knows exactly who Blaine is talking about; he sighs.

"That doesn't matter because you have cities to live in and Ivy League schools to go to and boyfriends to love, right?" Kurt smiles at him and tilts his head. "You can't be tied down to this place at his disposal. Which is why it's a good thing he won't be there, and he's the one locked up, right? Come here, babe." He pats his lap.

Blaine straddles his lap, facing him, each knee rubbing against Kurt's hips.

"Listen to me, Blaine. You've been on your best behavior lately. There's nothing they can hold against you without irrational influence. If Santana is giving you this chance to stand in front of the judge and have them review the last few months of your life, then she must think you have a pretty good shot of being okay in the end. You've been _good_, Blaine. Not flawless, not perfect, but what person is? There's been no real trouble at all, and Santana's job is to get you out of the system. She wouldn't just play roulette with your life… and mainly because I would personally beat her down and stop hanging out with her and I'm really her only friend, but also because you're an indication of how well she's done with her job. And she's your friend too, she cares about you almost as much as I do." He smiles and looks deeper into Blaine's eyes to make sure he truly understands the next sentence out of his mouth. "I am so proud of you, B. Regardless of what happens today, you'll still have me and we'll figure it out, whatever it is. Right?"

"It is kind of what we do."

"Mmhmm. It is kind of what we do. So." A kiss. "Stop." A kiss. "Worrying."

"Oh." A kiss. "Kay." A kiss and a grin. Blaine jumps up to release Kurt from the bed and holds out a hand. "Now or never. I'm still nervous as fuck and there's not a damn thing you can do about it, pretty boy."

* * *

"Docket number 13456234. Blaine Anderson."

_Oh, Jesus. Anderson, as in Christian's kid? This is just what I need. Some little faggot who couldn't keep his thoughts to himself and just wanted the stupid love and support of his mommy and daddy. This kid right here is why I don't have Christian anymore and as far as I'm concerned, he can go fuck himself on a wooden pole._

Kurt squeezes his hand and lets go as Blaine rises and approaches a small fold-out table situated in front of the judge.

"How are you, Blaine?" The judge eerily resembles Judge Judy herself, with an eighties haircut and very thin eyeglasses. She is looking at a manila folder, through paper copies of every incident he's been involved in since the ripe age of fourteen. There are things in that folder that Kurt doesn't even know, unless Santana has broken the client non-disclosure clause, and that makes him sweat a little more profusely than normal. Blaine heedlessly swipes his fingertips under his armpit where he finds a small puddle of a stain. He's so nervous, shaking and anxious that this conversation will be the one that ruins his life, his goals, and his dream of Columbia University.

"I'm fine, ma'am. Thank you for taking the time to see me this morning."

_Obviously, this little shit has had training from someone who told him to be polite to me. I'm the one who could make or break his entire life. Fucking Dalton._

"Your file says you've been in school since nearly the beginning of the year with a few detentions. Nothing we can't handle, correct, Blaine?"

"Yes, Your Honor. There have been a few… misunderstandings between some of my classmates and myself, if I'm being honest, but it's nothing I can't handle. I try to keep to myself as much as possible, and just get through it until graduation." He flashes an adolescent's smile. _Old people love me._

"Well, we'll see about that. And how's your job? It says you are employed at the Lima Bean on Main. You're still regularly scheduled, I take it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I brought my boss here to attest to that if you'd prefer." He looks back in Kurt's direction and smiles at him.

"No need, thank you, Blaine. His support here alone shows that you are a valued employee. Are you graduating on time?"

"As far as I know. I worked really hard during the first few months to catch up on what I missed since I started late." He smiles again. "I actually got accepted to a college in New York. It's the only one I applied to."

"Congratulations. Where?"

"Columbia."

"Great school. And you'll go for the fall?"

Blaine nods. "Pending… your… decision, ma'am."

"Your flirting with me is not swaying my decision, Mister Anderson."

"I'm not-"

"What will you study?"

"Um, pre-law, ma'am."

"You know, Blaine. I was a part of Columbia's pre-law program. Those were the hardest four years of my life, including my time with-" She cuts herself off. No need to tell Christian Anderson's son about her escapades with his father. "I hardly survived it." _Here goes nothing._ "What does your father think about your recent accomplishments?"

"With all due respect, Your Honor, I don't care what my father thinks. I have what you may call 'daddy issues.'"

She scoffs. _That's the understatement of the year._ "A child should care what his father thinks, should he not, Mister Anderson?"

"I suppose so, but I'm not a child. I guess I do care, on a subconscious level. Also, if my father was more than just someone who degraded me at every opportunity, I may respect his opinion of me. My father in particular, though-" Blaine is unexpectedly silenced by one Santana Lopez, click-clacking her stilettos in a determined rhythm all the way to the judge's bench.

"Your Honor, if I may. My name is Santana Lopez. I am Blaine Anderson's Parole Officer." She speaks in a hushed voice, too quiet for Blaine, Kurt, or anyone else in the courtroom to hear clearly. "Blaine's relationship with his father has always been tense, due to Christian Anderson's extremely high standards for his children. There is no one that I've ever met in my entire life that could realistically live up to what he expected in Blaine. But, with respect, his behavioral hearing in hopes to remove his tracking device no longer has anything to do with his father's involvement with his life."

"And how are you sure that Blaine is not fabricating the story he tells you about his terrible father, Miss Lopez? I know Christian Anderson very well, and he is not a violent man."

Blaine scoffs and looks back at Kurt. "He's not a violent man, Kurt. Did you hear that load of bull-"

"Shut up, Blaine." Kurt whispers and gives him a pointed look. "Stop." _ This is so not going well. Fuck._

"I can assure you that he is not making it up, Your Honor. His brother has the same stories down to the detail, and Blaine's partner was recently involved in a domestic violence and attempted murder case in which Blaine's father attacked them. Which, as you may have heard, Mister Anderson Senior is currently serving a ten-year sentence for at Lucasville."

"It sounds like Christian Anderson was Blaine's trigger to get in trouble in the first place. Am I wrong in assuming that, Blaine?"

"No, ma'am. You are not wrong in assuming that my father's issues started when I ca- when I was fourteen years old and I was fighting to feel as though he and my mother still loved me."

"What happened when you were fourteen, Blaine?" She knows. She remembers finding Christian at her doorstep that very night after Blaine came out to his family. He said he'd always figured that he might be, but that there's no way to love him after it's been confirmed, after he was beaten up at the dance he snuck out to, only to go with another boy.

The sweat dripping off of Blaine's nose multiplies as the words coming out of Judge Judy's mouth forms the one question he wishes to death that he did not have to answer. Santana turns around and looks to Kurt, also shaking and freaking the fuck out, then to Blaine with a single nod. This is an action to encourage him to "admit" to the Midwestern, Ohioan, Christian, Republican Judge who was obviously colleagues and at least friends with his father before he'd gone and had him sent to prison for attacking his boyfriend, that he is as gay as a double-edged sword with the head of a bright pink, glittery penis on each end.

He looks back to Kurt, who mimics Santana's single nod and adds his own glittering encouragement of a gorgeous smile.

"When I was fourteen, I came out to my family. I… am gay, Your Honor."

"A gay boy who holds his own in the…" She counts. "Sixteen fights you've been in at school this year."

Blaine breathes in deeply. "_Please_ don't stereotype me or the gay community, Your Honor… ma'am. As limited as it is in Ohio, it still exists. But yes, I did um, _hold my own_ on many occasions." Blaine grits his teeth and takes a deep breath. On the outside, he's calm and collected. Inside, he's on fire. _This is not going well. _

"And if I've read the reports and Blaine's honest answers correctly, Mister Anderson Senior will have served his sentence in as little as seven and a half years. If Blaine's trigger to get in trouble is the mishaps he's had with his father, what kind of guarantee can you offer me that he won't be back to his old ways when he's faced with Christian again? Blaine, your boyfriend that was attacked by your father, is he still your boyfriend?"

"Yes, ma'am. He is. But I'm not sure what this has-"

"Has he healed from the attack?"

"Um, yes. Uhhh, I mean, at least physically. We're still working through some… other issues, I guess."

"Do you love this boy, Blaine?"

"I do. More than my whole life." He sighs. Just the thought of Kurt calms him.

Kurt is watching the judge carefully. There is an ulterior motive to these questions, and as the conversation progresses, Kurt is more nervous as to what that is. He's tuned in but can't figure it out.

"What's going to happen when you go to college in New York, Blaine? Long distance relationships don't work very well at your age… _stereotypically_."

"He's planning on moving to New York in the fall, as well, actually. We're very excited to take our relationship to the next level and bring it to a place that is more accepting to our lifestyle." Blaine's confused as to why she wants to know all of these details about his relationship with Kurt, but continues his answers collectively. He hopes to anything that is holy that it will all end up alright in the end.

"Is your boyfriend here today, Blaine?"

Blaine's eyes go wide, launching into his protective state of mind. He lies. He'll always lie to keep Kurt safe. "No. He's-"

"Yes." Kurt squeaks, also seething from the unnecessary questioning that Santana seems to be unable to control. She is standing there, flabbergasted by how the conversation has turned, speechless in how to defend either her client or her friend. He'll deal with her later.

The judge makes a gesture for Kurt to join Blaine, so he approaches the table that Blaine is standing at and grabs his hand. He laces his fingers with Blaine's and looks at him with a small smile reserved for only him.

Blaine looks up at him and nearly chokes on his own saliva. "You are totally making this even worse. We're in Ohio, Kurt." He says in a whisper for only Kurt to hear. Kurt squeezes his hand in response. It's a squeeze to rectify. It's a squeeze to say "don't worry, I'll save you."

The judge blinks. She is dumbfounded and has forgotten where she was going with her questioning, although it was only to fluster Christian Anderson's kid. If she's being honest, she really misses being a lawyer and chooses to cross the gay kid that sent the only man she's ever loved to prison. By law, she knows what she has to do at the end of this conversation. Of course, she has to release him – he's done nothing to prove that he is harmful to the immediate community and there's no resourced proof or witnesses to show otherwise. Fights at school with fellow harmless teenagers are unfortunately not enough under the state of Ohio's wretched laws, and there's simply nothing further that she could control.

"Are you aware that your boyfriend is also your boss, Mister Anderson?"

Blaine looks at Kurt then back to the judge_. What? Holy crap, I had no idea!_ He squeezes Kurt's hand fearfully and moans deep in his throat. There is so much he wants to say to stand up for himself, but he can't find the words.

"It's okay, B." Kurt smiles at Blaine and turns back to the judge for himself. "Your Honor, we were dating before I hired him to work for me." _Not true._ "He needed a job and it was convenient that I have my own business where I can help him obtain a position there. The Lima Bean is always hiring and I was happy to help and get a dedicated employee out of the deal, too."

"Well, of course you're not going to fire him especially knowing that he needs to hold a steady part-time job to be in good standing with his parole officer."

"That is not necessarily true, Your Honor." Kurt speaks, as calm as he could be without showing the nerves penetrating out of his sweat glands. He looks at Blaine, smiles to try to calm him, then looks back up toward the Judge. "I made it very clear that while he was working, I am his boss and if he were to mess up in such a way that would deem him to get fired, I would not have hesitated. The truth is, though, you may think I am biased but I can vouch for Blaine Anderson as both my employee and as a person I've grown to know and love for almost a year now. We have been through the wringer as a couple and individually, and there is not one bad attribute I have seen in him yet." Kurt smiles at Blaine who is staring at him with wonderment in his eyes. "I'll keep you updated if I ever find a flaw."

The truth is that they never truly had that conversation about just how biased Kurt is when Blaine is late for work or not exactly doing what he's supposed to be at all times. Of course, this stays outside of the judge's radar.

"And I trust there are no illegalities situated within the _nature_ of your relationship, Mister…"

"Hummel. Kurt Hummel. No illegalities between Blaine and myself, Your Honor. You are correct."

_Shit. I thought for sure they had to have been dating since before Blaine was legal. Not that I can even bring that up without being suspicious at this point, anyway. I give up. _

"Alright. Well, good luck with your endeavors in New York, then, boys. Enjoy the city." She looks up from his file. "Effective immediately, Blaine Anderson's probation has been lifted on the grounds of good behavior and the opportunity to live his dreams in Manhattan. Thank you, Blaine."

"Thank you!" He bows awkwardly and rushes back to the empty row of seats that they occupied earlier.

"We are having a quick training session on how to stand up for your client next time, Lopez." Kurt gives her a pointed look. "What the hell was that? Silence when he absolutely needed you, San!"

Santana sighs and watches him as he walks past her and sits next to Blaine, patting his knee.

"You are amazing." Kurt whispers, but continues to look ahead. If he doesn't look at his lips, he won't want to kiss them.

Blaine coughs. "I thought she was going to lock me up for the rest of my life. I love you, pretty. Thanks for saving me. Again."

After the results of several other cases are announced, a police officer is assigned to remove Blaine's anklet. The trio is led to a small room down the hall from the row of courtrooms, where they sit patiently while the cop sneaks out to retrieve the device used to remove it.

"I can't even believe this. I seriously had visions of rotting away in a cell next to my father."

Santana and Kurt are holding hands because they know. Santana speaks up. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I just couldn't believe… are we sure she didn't know your dad more than she was letting on?"

"Honestly, does it matter? You guys literally… I would have never gotten this thing off without you. You saved my life. Thank you."

"D'awwww, Blainers. Come here!" Santana tackles him into a hug and pulls Kurt in so they're all hugging each other tightly. "Damn, what am I supposed to do without you two around here?"

Kurt backs away. "Funny you should ask. Do you make decent money babysitting delinquents?"

"Um, no."

"How much do you make?" Blaine wonders aloud.

"Thirty-two thousand dollars a year. But you're my success story, so the food stamps are worth it." She winks and smiles. "Why?"

"I'll double it for you to… maybe me and Kurt will open up a diner on Broadway or something and you can help manage it. When you're ready to join us in New York, of course."

Santana blinks. "What?"

"Give us a few months to get settled and then we can do it the right way, this time. You said it yourself like seven years ago, San. There's nothing here for any of us except each other. This place still reminds me of everything I've lost, and I know it does the same for you. Hell, _Rachel_ won't even come back here. Why the hell did we?" Kurt shrugs.

"Hey! You just had to come back to get me!" Blaine looks like he's about four years old with glistening eyes and a lit-up face.

"Are you kidding me, pretty boy?" Santana waves Blaine down and is staring at the best fucking friend she's ever had. Kurt stares back, smiles, and tilts his head.

"You can't call him that, Santana! That's mine!" Blaine reaches out for him and pulls him in for another hug, although somewhat innocent. They're in the courthouse after all. "He's mine." He bites Kurt's lower lip quickly because he can't not. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Mine too."

"Wanky." Santana grins. "I'll think about it. By think about it, I mean I'll think about when I can move."

Kurt and Blaine grin toothy smiles directly at her face.

Blaine jumps back when the cop knocks on the door once and enters a second later.

Folding his arms tightly across his chest, Kurt stands up straight against the wall with one boot holding it up.

"Sorry it took so long." The cop apologizes but he's not sincere.

Blaine approaches the cop and rolls his pant leg up over his ankle and smiles at Kurt. It pops off with a cracking sound, the special screw flying across the room. The tan line, without even trying, is ridiculous. Blaine flexes his ankle forward and back a few times, then rolls it in a counter-clockwise circle. The small amount of time it takes to remove the contraption is unbelievable, for being such a main part of him for a year already.

"I can't wait to take a shower without a grocery bag rubber banded to my leg."

Santana stands, following the lead for Kurt and Blaine. "That's all you look forward to? How about going anywhere you want? You never have to answer my check-in phone calls ever again! I don't have to keep track of you! I'm just as free as you are!"

"Whatever, Striptease. You know you've grown to love me."

Kurt laughs and throws an arm around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine stills for a millisecond but then folds at the elbow so he can hold Kurt's hand over his heart.

"I have. I love you, Blainers."

"Love you too, Satan." He grins and ducks out of Kurt's grip when she swings her purse at his crotch. Santana grabs hold of him and they walk out of the courtroom intertwined in each other with Kurt close behind. Blaine breaks away to slide down the banister and run toward the bench where he first met Santana that very first day almost a full year ago.

"Oh, come on. Let's reenact the whole thing for pretty boy." Santana preens. "I'll be you." She sits on the far edge of the bench, slouching and scowling, pretending to smoke an invisible cigarette, sulking and looking around at all the idiots eating lunch on the other benches.

Blaine and Kurt double over with laughter.

"Fuck you! I did not look like that!" Blaine sits on the exact opposite side of the bench straight and proper. "Blah, blah, blah. Go back to school and get a job, you're a loser, don't make me chase you. _I drew you a map_."

"You drew him a map?" Kurt looks between the two, ignoring the obvious self-deprecation spewing out of Blaine's mouth. "Oh my God."

Santana nearly falls off the bench. "Yes! I didn't want this little asshole of a kid to get fucking confused as to where he was and wasn't allowed! I did not want to get the phone call that he was in jail for disobeying. Even though I still got one of those very shortly after, didn't I? Did you guys realize Judge Judy over there didn't even mention that stint? I don't think it's even in your folder. I'll have you know that stuff requires a shit ton of paperwork."

Blaine cackles. "I was calling her Judge Judy in my head too."

"B. Let's go to lunch. Anywhere you want." Kurt perks up. They can go _anywhere_.

"Let's go to Thai Jasmine on South Pine! That shit's, like, six whole miles from here."

The boys look at Santana and Blaine nods toward the parking lot.

"You guys go ahead. You're still requiring me paperwork, Anderson. Don't get in anymore trouble." Santana smiles. It's really just an excuse for them to spend some time together; she knows they both need it.

"See you later, Santana. Thanks again." He hugs her tight, picking her up and twirling her. He kisses her cheek and waits for Kurt to say goodbye.

Kurt's goodbye is substantially tamer, just a simple hug will do.

Santana cuts through the grass back up into the courthouse, leaving the boys in her trails.

Blaine turns to Kurt and smiles at him. "Hi."

"Mmmm, come here a lot?" Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine's neck and captures his bottom lip between his own. He sucks gently and shifts to plant a full kiss onto his lips.

Blaine opens his mouth slightly as an invitation and Kurt takes him the way he needs to be taken. Kurt pushes himself closer to Blaine's body until they are touching at virtually every point and bend. He pulls only his head away to look Blaine in the eyes.

Blaine tries to break away, only enabling Kurt to grasp tighter around his body.  
"_Pretty_. We're not in New York yet. It's possible we're about to get shot or killed or worse." At Kurt's tightening grasp, Blaine takes a look around them wearily. It doesn't seem like anyone's paying attention to their public displays of affection, but you never know what will set someone off in ass-backwards Lima, Ohio.

"I don't give a shit who knows that we are together. God, B. Stop sounding like me a year ago. For what it's worth, while I have you captured and in my arms, I do need to reiterate how proud I am. Of you."

"Good, I do it for you." He smiles. "Love you."

"Mmmm, love you too. So much."

"It's so weird."

"Me loving you?" Kurt blinks, grinning like Blaine _produced_ the sun.

Blaine finally breaks away. He's just not comfortable latching onto Kurt. Not here. He starts walking, hoping that Kurt will follow. "Everything's working out, somehow. How is everything going right, Kurt? I can genuinely say that nothing can stop us now, nothing will. It didn't feel real until just now."

"New York?"

Blaine stops walking when Kurt's not following. He turns to his boyfriend and shrugs. They're about twenty feet away from each other, the space being just enough for Ohio. "Just everything. You and the fact that you're still here. The fact that we don't have to worry about money. The fact that I'm even allowed to go to New York without my GPS and my parole officer documenting my every move. More like I can go there if I want to." He approaches Kurt again and grazes his fingertips down Kurt's forearm, playing with his fingers and then dropping his hand. He remains in front of him. "And God, I want to, Kurt. We can go anywhere you want. I can't wait until we're there and somewhere else and everywhere. I want everything with you, Kurt, and for the first time in my whole life, that's not scaring me at all."

"B, you're so young."

"Why prolong it, though? I mean, I'm still going to want you when I'm… your age." His smile is evil.

Kurt tilts his head, his eyes bloodshot when his brain catches up to the words Blaine's just said. "Wait, are you talking like… is this a fucking proposal right now?"

"No!" Blaine laughs from his belly. "I mean, eventually, of course, right? As long as you still want me, you will get your ring. I promise you, pretty." Blaine plays with Kurt's fingers and rubs at the spot between the second and third knuckles on his left ring finger. "I guess I'm just double checking that you're still all in."

"Not if I beat you to it."

Over-dramatically, Blaine gasps. "You wouldn't!"

Kurt shrugs. "Promise that I'm all in, baby boyfriend. We pinky swore, don't you remember?" He gathers the shorter boy into his arms and rocks him slowly.

"Oh, silly me." Blaine giggles, leaving Kurt in his wake again, and nudging his head to follow. He leads Kurt down the path to the parking lot where Kurt's car is waiting.

Walking down the path of the park and back into the parking lot of the courthouse is a quiet journey, both boys deep in thought. They are likely thinking the same thing as the other, but no conversation is needed. _This is finally real._

Blaine stops in his tracks at the sight of a boy, no older than sixteen, barreling through the iconic front door to the courthouse. A man is on the boy's tail, savagely pursuing him with every derogatory name Blaine's heard, and even some he hasn't. Kurt, who is seconds away from opening the driver's seat door to climb in, notices Blaine staring and follows his eyes to the father-son argument only fifty feet away. Kurt circles the front of the car and slips his hand into Blaine's; they're legitimately staring at Blaine Anderson, one year prior.

Blaine observes only a few notable differences. The boy must have needed to call his father because he had no one else; Blaine was lucky enough to have Cooper in town that weekend. The boy's curls are blonde, his attitude seems harder, and he doesn't really pass as gay even though "faggot" is being thrown around like nobody's business. The boy's father, however, looks at him in the same way Christian would always look at Blaine. There is a fair share of name calling and at one point the father's hand raises as a threat.

Blaine sucks in and looks away and down. "_Kurt_."

"What do you want to do?" Kurt doesn't look in Blaine's direction. He's keeping an eye on the boy to make sure he gets away from his dad – from just another Christian Anderson in the lovely state of Ohio – relatively unscathed, at least physically. His question references the pair standing in front of the courthouse.

Blaine's answer implies his own life. "I want to say goodbye to my father before we leave for New York."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Blaine skips the rest of the school day on Friday. He and Kurt drive wherever they please. They go everywhere, only making turns when they feel like it, with a promise that Google Maps will get them back when they're ready. They go to lunch at Thai Jasmine, winding up at the Easton in Columbus shortly after because they can. They shop; Blaine buys himself a laptop so he doesn't have to mooch off of Kurt's for his schoolwork. Blaine forces Kurt to pick out a few lingering pieces from the Mad Men Collection at Banana Republic. They share a heaping slice of turtle cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory for dinner and sit in the back row of the movie theatre, catching a movie they won't watch. This is the best day ever; this is what it is to have _freedom_.

They slowly make their way back to Lima, more connected and in love than ever before.

"Before we leave for New York, I just need some closure. I need to tell him what I think of him and how he really shouldn't have tried to mess with us."

Kurt looks at him. He nods. "That makes sense, if that's what you want to do… just like it did when we talked about it a half hour ago."

"I know. Sorry I'm obsessing over it. You really don't have to come if you… I don't want you to trigger…" His voice fades out, looking at Kurt then away just as quickly.

"I will, for you. But don't you have to be on his visiting list or something?"

"I found the paperwork to request visitation rights and I just sent it in for both of us because I'm a selfish asshole who didn't even ask if you would be okay with being on his visitor list. They said I should have approval within a week. Do you think this is all a good idea though? I'm kind of torn."

"It's a good idea if you think you'll find some comfort in seeing him. You've obviously been planning this."

"Just keeping the possibility open, I guess. I think I should see him, because I want this time to be the last."

"As long as you think it will help you, not hurt you. Blaine, we've really gone through the wringer and I think it's time that we start looking up, and toward the future, no?"

Blaine nods. "I think it'll be a good tool for me to move on so that I can look toward the future and not be held back emotionally."

"Fair enough. Let's get you graduated and then take a day out there, yeah?"

"God, I love you."

"I love you too, honey." Kurt pats his knee. "Speaking of graduation day…"

Blaine looks intently at Kurt in response. He's a little nervous that his mom will show up, but he doesn't vocalize it because he knows that Cooper is going to be there, too and maybe he could manage to keep her away.

"So, um. Since… since Finn passed away, a bunch of us gather at the school in his memory on graduation day."

"Like, all of your friends from high school, that you graduated with?"

"And some that are younger than us, but we were all in Glee together."

"Okay…"

"I'm telling you because I want you to know that's a thing I do every year, and it happens to fall on your graduation this year and I don't want you to think that I'm only there for Finn. I'm absolutely there for you. And Finn." Kurt's rambling; he's nervous that Blaine won't feel wanted. It's an irrational feeling.

"Well, do you want me to go with you to this memorial thing? Is it just for you guys?"

"No, I want you there." There's a pause as Kurt sucks in his breath. "I need you there."

"Okay. Good, because I didn't want to leave you alone for that."

"Okay."

Blaine leans over and connects their mouths. He wishes there were a way to survive with his mouth connected to Kurt at all times.

* * *

On any given Saturday afternoon since the apartment's been finished, one could

find Burt making his rounds to all his guys or sitting in his office, hunched over with invoices and an endless amount of paperwork that Kurt refuses to help with. This Saturday, though, he's watching Blaine intently with a smug look on his face. This kid has officially proved him wrong, and not many do. Blaine wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, drags it vertically down his old tee shirt, and slams the hood of the Pontiac. He removes the car from the garage and stumbles back in, heading toward the office to see what else is in the queue.

Burt's not sure when it became routine for Blaine to join him every single Saturday. It was sometime between Kurt's attack and the (physical) recovery, he knows, but he can't pinpoint the exact Saturday that was the beginning of it all. It frustrates him; he wants a mark on the calendar of the day that he finally started accepting his son's boyfriend for who he is and not for how old he happens to be. Burt's grown to love the kid as his own, and honestly he's quite surprised that he's taken to him so well as Kurt's boyfriend, too.

Since that very first Friday Night Dinner where Kurt danced in and was happier and at ease more than anyone had ever seen him since New York – since _Finn_ – he knew this kid doing something to his own was something special. He was special enough to impress Kurt, so he had to be extra special enough to be accepted by Burt and Carole.

When the attack happened and Blaine stepped in to help in any way he knew how, he stuck around more than any other eighteen-year-old would have and Burt noticed. And he squirmed right into the Hummels' lives like it was no big deal. It means the world to Burt that Kurt is able to live happily with someone else. It's why Burt accepts Blaine into the family.

Blaine Anderson came into their lives like a hurricane and despite all the bad shit to happen _because_ Kurt knew Blaine, it all seems to have worked out for the best. The happy, passionate boy they once knew has resurrected. He's matured but still has the glitter in his eye at the idea of anything – _or_ _anyone_ – he loves. That's sort of what love does.

* * *

Blaine knocks sheepishly on the door leading to Burt's office, effectively snapping him out of his self-taught history lesson of his son's life since Blaine turned everyone upside down.

"Hey."

"What's up, kiddo? Shouldn't you be driving all over the state because you can?"

Blaine laughs. "Nah, that was yesterday. What's next?"

"You can go if you want, kid. The guys can handle the rest of it. What's Kurt up to?"

"Mmmm, he was at the Lima Bean when we texted at lunch." Blaine looks up at him, surprise and fondness glistening through his entire body, even by the way he sits up straight and proud.

"Wow. And he's okay? You should…" Burt trails off but cuts himself off when he realizes that Blaine doesn't need to be told to protect Kurt. Ever.

"So says Jules. I may have asked for hourly updates from her. She's the best. And also, I'm kinda her boss, or at least I was until Kurt regained his courage today." Blaine grins, proud of Kurt finally making his way back to the place of his attack. This shows progress.

Burt smiles. Thank God for protective Blaine to watch over his damaged son. "You're a good kid, Blaine."

Blaine looks at him, confused by the compliment but he'll be damned if he doesn't take it. "Thanks, Burt."

"And you two are ready for New York?"

"Yeah. It'll be good to get out of here, at least until Thanksgiving."

Burt sighs. "I know New York will be better this time for him. For both of you. You best take care of him."

"Of course. And we'll be back for the holidays, if you'll have us."

"That goes without question, kid. You're always welcome back… can I use the word 'home'?"

Blaine can only smile in response. There's a break in conversation; they're both pondering.

"Come to think of it, he's usually the caretaker." Blaine stares out into nothing, focusing on the image etched in his head of his Kurt. "He's really changed my whole life; I'm not just saying that."

Burt's not surprised, not one bit. "Gets it from his mother. She changed my life, too. We've been infected with the doe eyes and the persuasive baking skills."

Blaine laughs. "See you at _home_." He says with a teasing tint in his tone. "I'm going over to the Bean."

"Have fun. Lo-" Burt's eyes resemble Kurt's when he's nervous.

Blaine stands and looks at him. He smiles sheepishly. "Me too, Burt. Seriously, thank you." He rolls his eyes playfully and rushes out of the building.

Burt watches the space where Blaine disappears from and sighs. He's overcome with emotion, to say the least, and he's not sure he can handle it right now. He dives back into his paperwork and tries to push away the happy tears flooding the backs of his eyes and he ignores the stinging fondness in his heart.

* * *

Austin is staring at the numbers on the cash register as if he's trying to start a fire with black magic on an inanimate object. There's a decent amount of customers spread among the couches, chairs, and tables and everyone is involved in some kind of activity, whether it be an essay, the Internet, or talking with friends.

Blaine pushes the door open and nods at Austin. "Hey dude."

"Anderson! What's up? Your boy's here, you know that?"

"Yeah, I heard." He grins as their fists meet each other's. "Bored?"

"Been a steady flow." Austin shrugs. "Whatever. Four days until graduation, bro! You pumped?"

"I can honestly say that I never thought I'd be about to graduate. So yeah, pumped is a good word." He laughs.

"Yeah man. At least you guys are getting out of this cow town."

"You can too, if you want." Blaine smiles at him over his shoulder as he knocks on the doorframe to the back room where Kurt and Julie are slouched over Kurt's laptop as he explains the coffee buyer's relationship he's had since he took over for Rachel.

Julie and Kurt look up with the same startled eyes; Blaine would think they're related if he didn't know any better.

"Hey. Just wanted to put my two weeks' notice in. And I need this weekend off. I'm graduating and also visiting my father in prison."

"Oh, Blaine." Julie sighs. She attempts a joke, completely guessing on the delivery, hopelessly praying it'll work and not blow up in her face. "We've already been interviewing for your spot. We were going to fire you once we found a replacement anyway."

Blaine looks to Kurt for confirmation and when he shrugs, Blaine laughs.

"Nice. Thanks, _Kurt_."

Julie breathes a sigh of relief and goes back to studying the screen of Kurt's laptop. Kurt looks up at Blaine again and smiles.

"I had to see for myself that you were really here."

"Fact, not fiction." Kurt winks at him as Blaine leans down and presses his lips onto Kurt's hair.

"When do you think you'll be done?"

"Maybe another hour or so. Stick around to make sure?"

"Boss, your interview's here." Austin peeks in. "She's a looker."

"Oh my God, Austin. You can't-"

"Why? You did." Blaine cuts in.

Kurt blushes. "Everyone shut up. Julie and I will be with her in a minute. Tell her to sit at Blaine's table."

Blaine pouts. "What the hell, pretty? Blaine was gonna sit at Blaine's table." He holds on to Kurt's hips when he stands up and tries to get past his boyfriend.

"Sit at Kurt's desk, then. I won't be long." He bops his nose and sidesteps around him to start the interview.

Blaine sighs and plops down in Kurt's chair. He takes out his phone and goes through the calendar of things he needs to take care of before New York.

Update Homeowner's Insurance Paperwork – Copy Pop-pop's Policy  
Graduate!  
Christian…  
New York!

* * *

This Saturday is a once-in-a-lifetime Saturday. The boys wake, entangled in each other as per usual, not entirely sure whose leg belongs where and is attached to what hip.

Blaine sits up in the bed and pets Kurt's hair. "Pretty."

"Shhhhh. Sleeping." Kurt's face is buried in his pillow and there's a wet spot from drool.

"Wake up, baby. I have to graduate in like, an hour and a half."

"Mmmm, proud."

Blaine giggles. "_Kurt_. Please?"

"Go shower. I'll be up when you get out. Promise." Kurt shifts a bit, snuggling closer to the pillow and not for a second allowing his eyes to open.

"I want you inside me, pretty boy."

"Prepare yourself." Kurt sits up slowly, elegantly rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his fists. He blinks his eyes open and smiles at Blaine, who's already moved to position his finger where it needs to be. "Mmmm, just kidding. Allow me. Right after I brush the stank out of my mouth." He rubs at his eyes again, tries to smooth down his hair thrown all over his head haphazardly, and heads in the direction of the bathroom.

The chilling scream from the hallway is loud and clear; Blaine drops his chin to his chest.

Kurt scrambles back into their temporary bedroom. "Blaine. You are supposed to tell me if Rachel is here. Wrapped in my brother's jacket. Sobbing on the toilet Finn and I used to share. Preferably so I don't walk around naked?"

"I love you?"

"Hmph." Kurt retrieves his underwear, handing Blaine a free show as he bends down to get them, slips them on, and rushes downstairs to the other restroom.

"I didn't know!"

When Kurt returns ten minutes later and after saying hello properly and somewhat clothed to his best friend, Blaine is stripped and writhing on the unmade bed, comforter already kicked down and off of the mattress, three fingers inside of himself. "Jesus, Blaine." He sinks onto the mattress and feels from Blaine's shoulders to his hips, the faintest touch of the fingertips. "You have to stay quiet. Rachel's right downstairs. She's going to come with us to graduation."

"Please, baby… fuck me?"

"Yeah, babe. Of course."

"This is the last time you're fucking a high school student. Fucking revel in it, old man."

"Oh my God."

* * *

Blaine has an unnatural feeling in his stomach's cavity, almost like he's going to miss this place. He might actually miss strolling down the hallways with his almost-friends but the other end of the spectrum is so enticing that he could barely tolerate to sit through this ceremony. He doesn't let himself think about New York too seriously; it's all rather overwhelming that he gets to go there – _with Kurt_ – after all of the shit he's endured in his life. It's like the floodgates of Heaven are opening and he'll never look back to the physical world.

There are several speakers, forcing roughly one thousand people to sit through a nearly two hour spiel essentially saying the same thing: it's time to dream big, it's time to grow up, congratulations. Everyone is packed like sardines across the boiling metal of the football bleachers. The sun has several hours to torment each witness and it does to say the least, clocking in nearly triple digits the entire afternoon.

There are whistles and even a _foghorn_ (probably operated by Burt) blown loudly at the announcement of "Blaine Anderson," thankfully one of the first of his class to graduate. If there is anything Blaine is grateful for when it comes to his own blood and family, it's his father's last name beginning with an A. It's a blur of names he'll never remember after that, diploma clutched so tight he thinks he might need reconstructive surgery of the way his fingers bend. He's third in the pack to leave and as soon as the class starts to gather on the hill, there's a distinct buzz in his pocket.

_Kurt: Have I told you that you are the best-looking person in your class? _

**_Blaine: Shut up. _**

_Kurt: How do you feel?_

**_Blaine: Uh, like I've been detached from you for too long. Where are you?_**

_Kurt: Meet us by Finn's tree on the other side of the bleachers. _

**_Blaine: On my way, pretty. _**

Behind the crowd and down the hill, Finn's tree blows in the wind and it's an eerie feeling for Blaine, having never known him but somehow feeling his presence. He unsnaps his graduation gown, allowing it to mimic the leaves on top of the tree, and approaches the group of people gathering around Finn's memorial.

The first person he sees is Kurt. He's not facing Blaine, he's facing a crowd gathered all around the tree. He hugs a guy with a mohawk, squeezing tight and leaning into his body. The cluster seems like it's bigger than it should be and as he gets closer, Blaine realizes there are definitely people he doesn't know, including mohawk dude.

"Hey."

Kurt whips around at the sound of his boyfriend's voice; jumping and clapping like a four-year-old. "_Blaine_." He wraps his arms tightly around Blaine's neck and squeezes. Blaine's hands are magnets every time, going directly to where Kurt's waistband meets his skin.

"What?" He smiles into Kurt's cheek before kissing it and lingering a few seconds too long.

"Mmmm. Just Blaine. I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks, pretty." He smiles and plants a quick kiss on his lips. "But who are all of these guys?"

"Ah, this is the National Champion Glee Club of 2003. We've got… Rachel and Santana, who you know. That's Quinn, Puck, Tina, Lauren, Britt, Sam, Artie, and Mercedes. Mike's on tour, he couldn't make it." He rattles off the names and explanations while pointing to each figure. They are all grinning up at him and obviously in the know, at least to the extent of Kurt's relationship with Blaine.

Blaine glances to everyone and smiles shyly, then recognizes that Kurt's parents, the school's football coach, and Mr. Schue are all gathering around the tree as well. "We meet here every day on graduation day. To remember Finn."

"But this year…" Santana singsongs the words and pauses for dramatic effect. "We're also here for you, Anderson."

Before Blaine can react in any plausible way, he is drenched in a rainbow of silly string and glitter confetti. Rachel skips up to him and kisses his cheek, placing a signature gold star on his nose. "I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but we are all so truly proud of you, Blaine, and so happy that you can make our Kurtsie so happy too."

Kurt is smiling with folded arms, observing the interaction.

"Thought you weren't going to come back ever again, Berry." He is grinning so much today, it hurts. He teases as if to say _all is well_.

"We got rid of her for a solid seven years and now suddenly you're around and she's back twice." Santana chimes in, playing off the positivity of the entire conversation.

Blaine smiles at Santana then back to Rachel. "You never came to these memorial things?"

She shrugs and backs away, not meeting his eyes. "Someone told me recently that I need to move on. This is the first step. It's hard, but I'm trying." She grabs Kurt's elbow and squeezes, her eyes holding in the saline.

Kurt smiles down at Rachel and then to Blaine. "Okay!" He claps twice to get everyone's attention. "Thank you all for coming. This marks… God, nine years, and we all damn well know that it doesn't get easier at all, but at least it's not getting harder. Should we begin?"

And they do. They sit in a circle around the tree, crisscrossed at their legs, everyone touching the person next to them in one way or another. They speak in order, detailing one specific time they each have wanted to call Finn in the past year, since last year's get-together. Kurt delicately takes the group through the first time he saw Blaine, sparing most of the details about Blaine's condition that day. The first thing Kurt thought to do, he says, was to help Blaine in any way he knew how. The second thing he wanted to do was to call Finn and tell him all about this boy that waltzed right into his life and turned it upside down. Then, when Santana so eloquently informed him that Blaine was seventeen ("At the time, guys! Not now! Not that it matters… did you know that Ohio's law is sixteen?"), all he needed was to have Finn there to calm him down.

Blaine stares at Kurt in awe while he's delivering the story to his friends. There's a look in his eye that he's never seen before, having only been reserved for Finn. He takes the opportunity to examine the group sitting in front of him and around the tree, their own makeshift family that legitimately got them through one of the toughest experiences they will ever have to deal with. Losing someone is never easy (Blaine thinks he knows from his grandfather dying), and it speaks volumes of how everyone still cares so much about Finn and the loss of Finn. He was a good dude.

Blaine could just tell how much Kurt treasured his brother every single day of his life. By the end of the story, Blaine notices that Kurt is freely allowing his tears to fall down his cheeks as he does every year and Blaine is holding his own hands around Kurt's chest. Kurt, sitting between Blaine's stretched legs is leaning his back to his boyfriend's chest.

The group sits in silence for about a minute before Blaine straightens his spine a bit and clears his throat. He continues to hold Kurt; he needs the physical support and knowing that he's there does wonders for his nerves as he addresses the group of Kurt's friends and family.

"So, umm, I know that I've hardly known most of you but I just wanted to say that the fact that you all stop your lives to remember Finn once a year is really touching, and I know that his family must appreciate every single one of you." He tightens his hold on Kurt and looks up to Burt and Carole, then back to speak further to the group. "You know, observing the dynamic that you all have had with each other for the past ten years or so is really breathtaking, all I can think about is how I want friends that stick together like this. From what I'm gathering, Finn was the leader of the group, kind of like the glue. It's weird, because I didn't think being a human version of glue was a personality trait, and I know now that it can be passed along, brother to brother. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Kurt has saved my life this past year and it's really weird to see that effect that Finn's had on all of you, because I think it's identical."

Everyone's attention is on Blaine.

"About time Hummel has what he fucking deserves, huh?" Puck smiles, high-fiving Artie. The laughter around the circle is a blur of feeling and love among everyone.

Kurt leans farther back into Blaine's chest and tilts his head up to look into his boyfriend's eyes. "You blow my mind every single day, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a challenge, pretty boy." They kiss a bit too passionately for their surroundings and stop abruptly when Santana awkwardly lies across Kurt's knees and makes embarrassing pucker noises.

Things turn solemn again when it's time for Carole to speak; Blaine has to zone out in fear of being utterly overwhelmed by how much a parent could possibly love a child. Before Carole and Burt, he never believed it could possibly be an unconditional love, no matter what or who the kid is.

The pity party ends there and Kurt informs everyone that he's booked the banquet room in the back of Breadstix for anyone who wants to join them for a bite to eat in celebration of _Blaine Anderson: High School Graduate_. Everyone makes their way to leave, going on and on about the disgusting breadsticks.

Blaine grasps Kurt's hand like a lifeline and pulls him through the sea of red caps, proud parents, and accomplished eighteen-year-olds, all collectively euphoric in the feeling of the fact that further education is completely optional.

"Cooper's here somewhere." Blaine says as he digs in his pocket for his phone.

"No, he's at the restaurant making sure everything's all set." Kurt smiles and tugs him along.

"Blainey!"

Blaine freezes at the unmistakable voice behind him, and Kurt must sense the tension because he freezes as well. Blaine turns to find his mother standing there with a bouquet of flowers almost as big as she is.

"Honey, I'm so proud-"

Blaine blinks and looks at Kurt. "Um. So, anyway." Blaine looks back to his mother then turns and pulls Kurt toward the car.

"Mmmm. Are we ignoring that interaction right now?"

"We sure are. Nothing is ruining today, pretty." Blaine smiles at Kurt and shrugs. "We're not staying at Breadstix long, just so you know. We have shit to do, sex positions to try." They make it to the car, still attached by the fingers and waiting for the Lima traffic cops to actually do their jobs and allow them all out of the parking lot in an orderly fashion.

"Oh, I know that. It's more of a formality; we couldn't not throw you a party!" Kurt looks over at him and smiles again. "Seriously, B. You're okay?"

"Yep. Promise."

"I'm proud of you."

"Good. I want you to be proud of me. This New York thing is going to be really good for the both of us, you know." Blaine's thumb is familiar with Kurt's knuckles after all of this time, but the sparks he feels as he rubs them today are new. He sighs, knowing that he can only fall deeper and harder and more completely as his life continues with Kurt.

"I know. Besides this party, what else do you want to do?"

"Mmmm, just you." Blaine lets go of Kurt's hand and brushes a piece of hair out of his face, smiling all the while. It's been a good day.

Kurt shakes his head and laughs. "I'll allow it. I thought we'd actually drive down to Shawnee State tonight and enjoy a night to ourselves before we go to see Christian tomorrow?"

"Oh, how romantic you are, pretty boy. Buttering me up before dropping me off at the prison to visit my douche of a dad."

Kurt laughs. "Shut up."

"We're definitely not staying long. I want to be in a hot tub with you, in like… four hours?"

Kurt hums in response as he whips his car into the VIP spot at Breadstix. They deserve to park there, at least tonight.

* * *

The lodge is beautiful. It's old and rustic, romantic and quaint. They never make it to the en suite hot tub – it's too much of a romantic place to stay cooped up in their room. The spend most of the night talking about their future, nestled together on a bench near the campfire. They make friends with a couple from Upstate New York – an older lesbian couple – who just got married last week. In lieu of a destination honeymoon, they're driving across the country to find the state they want to spend the rest of their lives in together.

As the couple speaks about their lives together, Blaine doesn't dare let go of Kurt, continuing to look at him for a reaction to basically every positive thing they say. Hotel staff approaches the four of them and give them long sticks and marshmallows. They spend the next half hour laughing and verbalizing domestic fantasies, feeding each other dozens of browned and burnt marshmallows shamelessly.

When it's late, they wrap their bodies up in each other and stroll back toward their room. They climb in bed and have their way with one another, soft and slow, and more emotional than ever before.

"Thank you for this, Kurt. You'll never top this. Tonight was perfect."

"You're welcome, baby. Let's get some rest, big day tomorrow, yeah?"

"I love you." Blaine kisses his forehead and rolls over to try and sleep. He eventually gets there, but not before Kurt and definitely not before he plays every scenario of how tomorrow could possibly go in his head over and over again.

* * *

"You're sure about this?"

"No. What was I thinking? I can't do this, Kurt."

"I think that you might regret it if we drove all the way down here and you didn't go in."

"Why would you ask me if I'm sure about it if you're going to push me to go in anyway?"

"Hey. I'm not pushing you, Blaine. I'm simply suggesting that I think you really want to do this but the fear you have right now feels like it's all too much. You are stronger than you know."

"Let me just… sit here for a minute."

A minute turns into ten and then into thirty, and Blaine can see that Kurt's getting restless, shifting more frequently as the seconds tick by.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah."

"Just… making sure you're still here." Kurt smiles at him then stares at the window just as quickly.

"Okay, okay. God, you're right. Let's go and get this over with." Blaine jumps out of the car and looks up, scared to death, at the barbed wire and the men in the distance with the orange jumpsuits.

They sign in and wait nearly an hour to be called for visitation. Blaine shakes the entire time, and it's not because he's cold, it's because he's frightened to death of the words that will ultimately come out of Christian's mouth. He doesn't want them to trigger Kurt into any memory from the attack, but he also doesn't want them to trigger his own memories from life with Christian as a guardian.

After forever, they are led into a less-than-intimate room with a row of uncomfortable cubicles. The cinderblock walls smell like paint; they must have refreshed recently and Blaine already has a headache. A few cubicles are already occupied with wives and husbands and children and loved ones, staring back into the small-as-sin window, looking at the prisoners as though they are all mistakes and there's not one good thing about them. The guard shows Kurt and Blaine to the second-to-last cubicle.

Kurt irrationally measures the escape route to be a little over five hundred feet in total. Just in case.

There has to be some sort of sick joke hidden within the lack of comfort as Blaine sits on the edge of the unpadded, periwinkle plastic chair in front of a window that would only allow him to see his father's face when it appears with the rest of his body. Blaine's leg is shaking fiercely against the floor; his heel and ankle completely elevated doing all of the work to show his nerves flowing through his veins. The double-sided plexiglass must be several inches thick. Blaine taps on it with his pointer finger to make sure it's as thick as it looks and he nods in satisfaction to himself and sits back in the chair, leaning on the back two legs. His foot catches the molding under the counter as support. He looks to his left for his physical support, embodied in a single person.

Kurt is leaning against the wall of the cubicle that separates one visitor from the next, shoulder blades squared and arms hugging around himself. He's putting on a brave face, but his shaky hands now balled into fists and resting on corresponding forearms are not slowing, despite how many birthing breath sequences he tries, all to stop from hyperventilating and going straight into a full-fledged panic attack. When eyes meet, he smiles a strained movement only to show his unconditional support for Blaine.

Blaine gets up from the chair without a thought but instinct and wraps his arms around Kurt, swaying them slowly to the tune of his own song in his head. Each head drops to an opposite shoulder and they waver to and fro. There are hitched gasps and stiff squeezes as they hold on to each other for dear life until there's a cacophonous strike three times to the thick window in front of them.

Blaine pulls away to look Kurt straight in the eye; they're still physically connected at every point. "We don't have to do this, pretty."

"You do, so we can move on. Go ahead. I'm right here." Kurt leans back against the wall of separation, hugging into himself again and watching Blaine with sharp eyes. His words are supportive. His body language is scared. Thankfully, he is outside of Christian Anderson's line of view.

Blaine sags, dropping into the state-owned seat, staring at his father in a way that he hopes intimidates. At Christian's eyebrow raising, Blaine's eyes flicker with sadness, anger, and frustration. He looks down at his folded hands, then back up at Kurt, then to the phone hanging limply on the wall next to the window. He burns fire through it with his eyes and after what seems like years, he picks it up and places it restlessly between the top of his shoulder and his ear. He immodestly holds it to his cheek, well aware that he'll need to scrub and exfoliate later. He shifts the phone and stares at his father. Christian doesn't let down, and the interaction turns into a competition.

"I don't know what to say." Blaine finally squeaks. He shrugs aimlessly, eyes now shifting anywhere but toward his father.

"Why the fuck are _you_ here?"

"I just… I don't know."

"Where's your boy toy?"

Blaine shrugs and looks away. "I think it was a mistake to come here." He whispers the words so softly; Kurt can hardly make them out.

Kurt watches Blaine intently as he transforms into a small boy, downright afraid of the man sitting in front of him, even if there is no way Christian can touch him now. There's no possible way for Christian to touch either one of them, not today.

"I'm surprised you left your roach-infested bedroom on top of that faggot ass coffee shop to come see me after you're the one who put me here in the first place. Can't believe your _pretty boy_ could keep his dick out of your asshole for as long as it took to drive all the way out here, you fairy dust little bottom bitch. The cold air getting to be too much, cocksucker?"

Blaine's eyes find Kurt's, all of four seconds away from unstoppable tears. They both inhale and exhale in sync and reach for each other's hands, an unspoken promise that they're always here for one another.

At Blaine's face distinctly breaking, Kurt slides down the wall until he's sitting on the ground and pulls his boyfriend swiftly into his lap. He whispers anything decently supportive, seconds away from his own panic attack, lips rubbing against the shell of Blaine's ear with every movement of a different word. "We don't have to be here, baby. Do you want to go home?"

Blaine turns his head to look at the empty chair above them. "I'm just going to… say goodbye, then."

He pulls his weight upward onto the seat and looks through the window, picking up the abandoned phone. "Dad, I just came here to say bye. I'm moving to college next week, and I don't want to see you again. So this is closure for me. For Kurt."

"They let _you_ into college?"

"University of Washington at Seattle. Pre-med."

Kurt looks at him, all of the questions in his eyes. Blaine doesn't need to look back to see them, but he shakes his head nonchalantly. This is a translation for _I'll explain later_.

"Poor little _pretty boy_ gonna miss your gaping fuck hole?"

"We broke up a few months ago, actually. I assume he misses it a lot, you know. He was the greatest lay I've ever had." He pauses for effect, causing his father to sputter and look away. In that moment, he glances at Kurt just for a second and grins smugly, winking and biting his lip for _Kurt's_ reaction; he doesn't care about his dad's. When he gets what he wants out of Kurt, he turns back to the window and sighs. "Dad, are you going to at least try to apologize here? Has Mom come to see you?"

"I didn't do jack shit to you, boy. Get the fuck out of my face."

A fire is lit under Blaine; his number one pet peeve is when someone doesn't own up to what they've done. It's why he bit his tongue and walked around shamelessly with a GPS attached to his ankle for so long – because he deserved it.

"Oh, okay. So you think that nearly killing me twice a week for years because I'd rather suck a dick than… do whatever it is you do with women. That's nothing. My ribs have been broken more than they haven't, do you know that? Or putting my boyfriend, the love of my life, in the hospital for a month with surgeries and pain and suffering that he still deals with every day of his life? That's jack shit? Fuck you, seriously."

"No. That's reserved for the love of your life, fagboy."

Blaine stands up with the phone, leaning over the desk to put his forehead to the window. "Goodbye, Christian. You are not worth the time I've spent thinking about you." He backs up ever so slightly and punches at the plexiglass, fully in touch with the fact that it won't shatter. He spits aimlessly at the window and storms away and out of the room with the row of cubicles.

Kurt jumps to his feet and peers into the window. He glances in the direction of Blaine's legs carrying him as far as he can go. He stares down the eerie hallway until his boyfriend can't be seen, and makes a decision in that moment. Kurt rights the chair and slides into it sheepishly, raising the previously thrown-about phone to his ear, waiting for Christian to pick up his again. They lock eyes for a second; Kurt looks away immediately.

For a split second, Kurt wants to run too. He wants to flail his arms, dragging his legs full speed down the stingy hallway. He wants to burst out of the doors he willingly came through hardly an hour ago and never think about Christian Anderson again. He imagines his car pulling away, heavy weights lifting off of his shoulders and Blaine's, never to be dealt with again. He knows in the pit of his stomach that this escape he's been planning with Blaine couldn't possibly be reality without some sort of verbal closure. He finishes what Blaine started.

"You think your words are going to hurt him any more than they already have?" He wonders out loud, conveniently directly into the speaker of the wired phone.

"Brave, coming here to see me, lady boy."

Kurt shrugs, his courage festering in one vein at a time, soon searing through his entire body. "Mostly as support for Blaine's closure before we never set foot in Ohio again."

"Following an eighteen-year-old across the country with no real plan?"

"Seattle's a great place for a coffee lover." Kurt's snarky attitude is nothing less than impressive; he is grateful he remembered the lie well enough to enforce some sort of fact in his words. He nods for himself, egging himself on, and continues. "Just thought you'd like to know that despite all of your shitty attempts to bring Blaine down, you somehow raised the most amazing, driven, intelligent man I have ever met and I can't wait to grow old with him, far away from here."

"So you two are still together. Your little fuck buddy lied to me."

"I can only assume that he was trying to protect me from you. But yeah, we've been together and you can't break us."

"I am going to kill you and your faggot-ass boyfriend, boy. You better be scared. As soon as I come out, I'm coming for you."

"That's cool. If we go now, we'll have a ten-year head start on our escape we've been planning basically since we met. I hope you fucking rot in hell, dear father-in-law." He wiggles his left hand quickly, although his ring finger is blank. He knows he can play on Christian's emotions to the point where he might just be convinced that he saw a ring after all. Kurt rises from the chair and smiles – genuinely smiles – and disappears from Christian's view.

Kurt follows Blaine's path calmly, trying to commit the euphoric feeling of closure into his memory. He breathes heavily and steadily, lungs in sync with each step. He heads down the stairs, ignoring the lingering throb to his shin. He stops in his tracks when he sees his beautiful Blaine, crouched down next to Kurt's Navigator, his fingers tangled into his hair, chin to chest, sobbing a loud cry for anyone to hear.

Kurt sits fully on the pavement next to him, locks their elbows together, and waits. He flexes his legs straight, maybe still out of habit from the months he spent in a cast, crossing them at the ankle, and rests his head on the car's passenger side door. He closes his eyes, thinking back to the scene that unraveled right in front of him. Kurt's heard the stories from both Cooper and Blaine about how terrible Christian always was as they grew up and especially after Blaine came out to his family, but he's never seen it firsthand.

"Kurt." The back of Blaine's head stays connected to the car door but he turns at the neck to look at his boyfriend's face.

"Hey." He tangles their arms more and eventually finds Blaine's hand, intertwining their fingers and holding Blaine's wrist with the other hand. He turns slightly, body language proving just how in love he is with the boy next to him.

"Mmmm." Blaine's smile almost pulls upward and he turns again to stare straight ahead. "I'm going to try to break the habit of calling you 'pretty boy.'"

"What… why? You know I love that. It _does something_ to me, B." Kurt turns all the way toward him and tilts his head, smiling before abruptly allowing it to fade into the complete opposite. "It's because of him?"

"It's how he refers to you, Kurt. I can't be anything like him."

"Oh, honey." Kurt inches closer and cradles Blaine's head in his arms and attaches his lips to the top of his boy's unkempt curls. He smoothes the flowing curls out with his chin and commits to holding Blaine for as long as it takes. "You are nothing like him. You couldn't be if you tried."

The muffled sound of wailing into Kurt's arm breaks his heart like a puzzle thrown into the wind.

He feels the need to continue. "You can call me whatever you want, but that nickname was yours first. That's such a tiny detail in the grand scheme of things, don't you think? Jesus, Blaine. You are _nothing_ like him."

"I'm sorry I told him we broke up. I just thought…"

"I know."

"I love that you always _know_. I love you." Blaine sits upright again, and Kurt follows him to put his head to Blaine's shoulder.

"You know what I think we should do now?"

"Hmm?"

"Get the fuck out of here."

"You are the world's best everything." Blaine jumps up and holds out both of his hands to help Kurt back to his feet. "Hey, Kurt?"

Instead of words, Kurt uses his kiss to question what he needs.

"How much do you trust Santana?"

"Surprisingly, with my whole life. Why?"

"Just wondering. I might ask her to do us a favor." Blaine digs into Kurt's pocket for the keys and opens the passenger side door on the Navigator, moving out of the way to show Kurt wordlessly that he wants to drive. "I think I should sign the place in New York over to her so that when he gets out, he would only look for properties that we own. We'll be untraceable."

Kurt climbs up into the seat and laughs at Blaine. "This is like your own personal action movie, huh? She'd probably agree. She owes me a lot too, you know." He winks as Blaine shuts the door for him, and watches with heart eyes as he rushes around the front of the car and climbs into the driver's seat.

The farmland goes on as they pass; tomorrow is the first day of their lives as they mean it.


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"So. That's it then."

"This concludes our life here in Lima. What do you have to say about it all, Mister Hummel?" Blaine shoves his iPhone into Kurt's face, smiling brightly at him while he waits for his answer.

"I think that…" he looks to Blaine then directly to the phone's camera. "I love you more than words can say and I can't wait to start the next chapter of our lives in New York! In a few years, you can be a hot-shot lawyer fighting for equal rights and gay marriage, and I'm going to be as blown away by you as I am today." He takes the phone from Blaine and turns it around on him. "And you, Mister Anderson?"

Blaine's face splits in half with his emotions written all over his face. He rolls his eyes and looks into the camera. "I believe that you're going to be the best home-husband there ever will be and you're going to take care of me as I take care of you, and we're going to be in this for good. We're in this for good, pretty boy."

Kurt tilts his head, more in love than he was a second ago. He holds the phone up and above them in true "Selfie Mode," and continues to record as he lays a thick kiss directly to Blaine's lips. He pushes back, not far enough for four lips to lose contact, and expresses his feelings in the only three words he knows how. "I love you."

They wordlessly get into the car, waving to their friends and family gathered in the parking lot of the Lima Bean to see them off, and they drive east.

When they reach I-80, they merge. The boys both have their sunglasses on, singing at the top of their lungs to the first few songs on the playlist Kurt prepares for them. Blaine turns to look at Kurt, taking the first driving shift like a champion. He stares back out of the front window, staring at the _purplepinkblueorange_ sky, like it was backlit and painted just for their journey. He looks forward, east, to see his future.

Kurt takes his eyes off the road to look at his beautiful boyfriend. He looks forward to the world directly in front of them and takes it as a metaphor. Their future is finally attainable, a concrete guarantee that their lives will be what they've worked so hard toward. It's like they were planning their escape since the day they met.

They hold hands over the middle console with the windows _rolled down and the heat on high_ ("Like the song?" "Like the song.") until Blaine drifts off, until Kurt is too tired to drive anymore and he pulls into the Holiday Inn somewhere in Pennsylvania.

They have the rest of their lives together, the least they can do now is sleep.


End file.
